Peccary Fog
by flah7
Summary: Beckett goes off world with another team. They are late in returning. Sheppard and his team go looking for them. Team fic with Beckett
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Peccary Fog

**Author:** Heather F

**Disclaimers:** not mine, no money made etc.

**Thanks:** NT, Mitzi and MegT

**Rating:** PG ---violence etc. (I'd let Emmit read it)

**Characters:** Beckett and Team

**Spoilers:** Irresistible, Misbegotten, Common Ground---all very slight, except for Misbegotten

**Warnings:** See rating and Been a bit busy/distracted these last few months. It's been a tense and trying summer.

**Summary:** Beckett's off world with another team **(Who would have thought that?).** They are late in returning to Atlantis **(Oh No!).** Sheppard, McKay, Teyla and Ronon go looking for them **(All the Ingredients for Disaster!).**

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**Part 1** (having trouble with FFN...losing parts of sentences and formatting. Working on straightening it out)

His breaths sounded desperately harsh to his own ears. His legs flashed forward, blurred lines of grey against a dark shadowed background of greens and browns. His chest heaved painfully as his feet pounded over the uneven forest floor. The heavy tread of his off world boots were muffled by a continuous soft bed of pine needles and fallen deciduous leaves. Roots bulged from the ground, threatening to catch a toe, hook a heel or twist an ankle.

Leaves snapped back and forth as he brushed by them, knocking them hastily out of his way with his shoulders, a stray knee or shin.

Beckett ran. Wild eyed, pupils dilated, and mouth open, he ran down the narrow forested path in the direction of the stargate.

He cast a fleeting glance over his shoulder, his legs nearly crossed. His right foot skimmed the inside of his left ankle, catching the thick material of his off world uniform. It hitched his stride, threatened to tumble him to the ground. His arms instinctively flashed out, wavering for balance. His breath caught and interrupted the flow of oxygen.

He stumbled, flared his arms for balance as his head and shoulders were thrown outward over his flying feet.

He lunged forward, keeping his feet, maintaining his forward motion.

Beckett continued his headlong sprint between the trees following the twisting, turning convoluted path that would eventually lead him back to the stargate.

The short abrupt sound of P-90 firing clattered somewhere behind him.

His own .9mm remained strapped to his outer thigh, chamber open, clip empty.

"Oh crap. Oh crap," he muttered between great heaving draws of breath. His chest couldn't expand far enough, his heart couldn't seem to beat fast enough and his legs couldn't carry him to safety nearly as quickly as necessary.

He kept running. It never entered his mind to stop.

Carson pumped his arms. His shoulders were no longer restricted by the awkward, cumbersome backpack. He had unsnapped that and let it slip from his shoulders long ago. His off world vest was quickly shed soon after the backpack. Perhaps a quarter mile ago? Maybe more, maybe less.

It was a lifetime ago. Hurn's lifetime. The young man from Toronto had been dragged down the same time Beckett shucked his backpack on the run following the stern direct orders of Lieutenant Hopkins.

The Lieutenant's last set of orders.

Tree branches whipped by, snatching at Carson's half zippered jacket, scratching along his clothing and threatening to break his stride, twisting his upper body, and attempting to foil his mad blind dash back to the gate. His pelvis remained true to his direction, despite the gyrations of his upper body. His legs snapped forward and sprang back with every frantic stride.

Beckett, bent, twisted and turned his upper body, forcing his way through overhanging branches. He didn't bother pushing branches from his face, but pumped his arms, maintaining a rhythm with his legs and covered ground faster than he ever thought possible.

His chest burned fiercely. Great boluses of air seemed to knot and catch in his trachea. It felt as if a great band tightened itself around his chest, keeping him from expanding his thoracic cavity properly.

_Run man, come on man…run. You can make the gate…run damn it…the gate…get help._

Another burst of P-90 fire erupted behind him. He could hear the large rounds tear through leaves and slam into trunks of trees with a dull thud. The sound was both frightening and strangely comforting. Corporal Edward Thomas was back there, laying cover fire despite his ruined arm. Buying Beckett time.

They were the only two left.

Carson followed the narrow game trail. Trees and scenery splintered past him without notice. Little undergrowth vegetation marred the pine needle-carpeted ground. Soft dirt and pine debris deadened the footfall of each heavy step he took.

_Run, damn it….faster….._

"Come on, Doc!" Suddenly Thomas was a step behind him. Urging him on. "Hurry, Doc! Hurry."

Beckett merely blinked, not having the strength or coordination to nod. He lengthened his stride just a bit, leaned forward just a tad and clenched his fists just enough that he clawed for invisible purchase in the space in front of himself just to find a little more speed.

Mist gathered around his ankles. It circled and spiraled up around his boots, thin tendrils encircled his lower legs.

He whimpered. _Oh God. Oh God._ They weren't going to make the gate.

Beckett found a burst of speed.

He hauled in great heaving breaths through his open mouth. The tip of his tongue rested just at the base of his bottom incisors, trying to keep a straight unobstructed flow of needed air.

"We're not going to make it!" Thomas huffed. The deafening sound of P-90 fire exploded just behind Beckett. The corporal continued to protect their desperate escape.

Beckett dug down a little deeper; found a little more speed. His heart was going to explode from the exertion. He knew it.

Carson followed the path weaving left and right. He shortened his stride instinctively when forced up little inclines and lengthened his stride as he careened downward. He never lost speed.

Branches lashed at his shoulders and neck.

His palms were soaked. Sweat dripped from the back of his hands and along his fingers.

Sweat ran down the sides of his face and soaked his shirt. It beaded across his forehead and rolled into his eyes. The salt stung, forcing him to wipe his eyes with a hurried brush of a damp coat sleeve. It broke his stride. Interrupted the smooth, mindless gait he had unknowingly established.

"Hurry, Doc," Thomas whispered. The breathless order, though unnecessary, was heeded.

Beckett squeezed his eyes closed for just a moment, two strides. His legs flashed forward, the balls of his feet snapping into the ground and springing him forward. His shoulders never rose or fell. Extra motion wasn't wasted. The body drove itself on mindless instinct. Eyes remained dilated, airways open and free of mucous. Heavy muscle bodies consumed oxygen as blood was shunted from less important areas.

Breathing had become painful. More painful than he had ever imagined possible.

He heaved in great draughts of air. His chest was in agony. Air was sucked through his mouth, fluming down his trachea into his burning lungs. His chest felt on the verge of exploding. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Beckett ran through an improbable but unstoppable list of differentials; _perhaps an undiagnosed neoplasm was sitting in his chest preventing air exchange; perhaps an aneurysm was on the cusp of rupturing. Maybe undiagnosed asthma? Oh Crap, maybe he was missing a set of lungs? _He couldn't seem to get enough air. Drowning on dry land. Asphyxiating on a world that carried plenty of oxygen.

Carson could picture his heart twitching and fluttering wildly as it frantically beat under neurgenic stimuli to contract stronger, more efficiently, faster---impossibly faster.

His legs moved, pounded over the ground, turning over faster than he had ever moved in his life. Faster than he ever imagined he could move.

It wasn't going to be enough.

Thomas was less than a step behind. The young man from New York and not New York City as he reminded people at every opportunity, was only a half breath away, occasionally squeezing off small bursts of fire. He continued to try and protect them.

The mist whispered past their feet, swirled around their ankles. It stretched fine ghostly tendrils just in front of each desperate step.

They weren't out running it.

_Oh Crap…Oh Crap._ Carson kept his head up, his mouth open and tried to ignore the stretching grey mist that trickled and wisped from behind, stretching out to cover the ground before him.

Large leafy ferns slowly faded, disappearing behind the shimmering, circling mist as the trail in front of them became increasingly more enveloped in white.

_Oh Crap. _The gate was too far away. They were so close. So close to almost escaping.

But close only counted in horse-shoes, hand grenades and atomic bombs, or so his cousin once told him.

The mist reached further in front, obscuring the trail, building and swirling around them.

Beckett ran harder. He could no longer see the flash of his boots or lower legs. He stretched his legs further, lengthening his stride, trying to out stretch the mist.

His chest burned with near paralyzing intensity. He could feel his muscles stretch and contract, forcing tendons to pull on bone, flex joints, bend one knee, arch a foot and conversely extend them as well as his leg stretched for the ground only to kick off less than split second later.

The mist swirled around his feet.

Something bumped his lower leg.

He let out a breathless whimper. Sweat ran into his eyes, stinging them closed.

Something nipped at his left ankle.

He angled his steps to the side, twisting his upper body and rolling his shoulders as he quickly sidestepped and dodged something unseen within the haze.

He choked back a sob. His breath hitched. He missed a gasp. His chest screamed in silent agony as blood rushed through vessels with a little less oxygen than was needed.

Tears of exertion sprung to the corner of his eyes. They mingled with the free flowing rivulets of sweat that traveled unerringly down his shadowed face.

"Trees! Go up!" Thomas breathed just behind Beckett. The command was desperate, full of fear and perhaps a tinge of regret.

Without conscious thought, or taking the time to make a decision, Carson reached up and grabbed the next low lying branch that swung down close to the trail.

With momentum behind him, he swung his legs up, knees to chest, curving his upper body into a C and rolled himself stomach inward over the low swinging branch and into the tree in a single seamless movement. A move he would never probably be able to duplicate again.

Thomas was a step behind. The young man jumped straight up, his P-90 slapped against his torso. He grasped the thick branch with both hands and lifted himself vertical; bending his legs, drawing them closer to his chest as he struggled to lift himself onto the branch Carson had swung himself onto. The P-90 stock hooked the underside of the branch, halting Thomas's momentum.

Beckett scrambled one branch over, neither gaining nor losing height. He reached down desperately to grab the young man's exposed white wrist as the corporal's jacket sleeves slid back on his arms. Tendons and ligaments strained as blood vessels dilated just under the scantly haired lower arm of the struggling marine.

Beckett threw himself against his branch, bracing his heaving chest against the limb and clasped desperately to the young man's wrists and pulled.

The P-90 thudded against the tree branch, keeping Thomas's lower body close to the ground.

The young soldier kicked his legs upward, trying to gain a hold with his treaded boots against the smooth bark of the tree.

His boots scratched madly for purchase.

The mist swirled just under his curved back. His dark grey off world coat billowed like a partially deflated sail toward the ground.

"Hurry man," Beckett pleaded in a breathless whisper. Sweat dripped from his forehead and nose darkening the smooth bark just below him. Perspiration circled from behind his head to trickle down his neck behind his ears and into his sodden shirt.

Thomas scratched frantically for more purchase. He struggled to pull himself up with his one good arm, forcing his ruined arm to perform tasks it could no long hope to ever accomplish again.

The P-90 snared itself in a knotted tree bough.

"Doc?" It was a plea, a question, as if somehow voicing the title would-could-make the situation turn in their favor. It was the askance of a scared boy turning to a favorite uncle for help, for assistance. A young brave man, seeking help from an individual he himself had sworn to protect.

Thomas's terrified eyes caught Beckett's. They were a vivid blue, sparkling with fear and trepidation. "Doc?" The panic in the voice matched the horror that blazed behind strikingly clear, ice blue eyes. They were the dazzling color a mother loved showing off to family and strangers; the kind of eyes that had girls staring and left them wanting. Thomas's vibrant blue eyes were the hypnotizing clear that had people betting if they were real or contacts.

Carson knew them to be real. His little nephew had the same color.

"No," Beckett whispered, matching the desperation in Thomas's eyes. The doctor tried to haul the marine upward, using all his strength. His back muscles stretched and contracted, pulling against cartilage and bone. Ribs ached and discs compressed and pinched.

His slick hands slipped on Thomas's sweaty wrists.

Pale skin blanched further before reddening, highlighting the impressions left by Carson's slipping fingertips and palms.

The P-90 clanked and rattled, but remained wedged.

"The clasp---undo the clasp," Carson ground between tightly clenched teeth. "Hurry man." Thomas's ruined arm couldn't communicate fine motor skills to his fingers.

Thomas's feet lost their purchase on the tree trunk. They fell toward the building mist which swirled and circled along the ground, thickening and boiling.

His feet disappeared into the fog.

"No…no," Beckett mumbled and tightened his grip around the bony wrists. "No." He pulled again. His hands slipped. Thomas slid a little closer to the hidden ground.

"Doc?" The plaintive plea was barely audible.

Carson quickly adjusted his grip and tried lifting again, refusing to look at the coalescing mist.

The corporal began screaming. He thrashed and hollered. His head flew back and his body jerked. He kicked his feet up again, trying hysterically to gain purchase against the trunk. His left foot scrabbled and slid desperately while the fresh bloody stump of his lower right leg twitched and seized, bleeding, keeping time with the frantic beat of his over worked heart.

"No," Beckett denied again. He squeezed his eyes closed and pulled with the might and strength of the desperate. _A tourniquet. They could stop the bleeding with a simple tourniquet'. He could treat the shock somewhat; it would be difficult but doable. They could survive this. Help would come. Come on man…_

Thomas's foot lost purchase and once again disappeared within the swirling mist. His cries split the area. He spasmed and cried, choking and gasping. His grip on the tree branch tightened and then slipped.

For a brief moment of time, it was only Beckett's hold that kept Thomas's upper body from the mist.

The young man continued to scream. Blood curdling screams. His head was thrown back. He jerked and convulsed left and right, up and down.

Something tugged down on Beckett's grip, fought his hold. Thomas jerked in his hands like a baited fishing line hooking the catch of the day.

Thomas screams became gurgles. Bright red blood stained his teeth; then sprayed outward as he fought for an elusive breath and then finally thick blood bubbled from his mouth to simply roll down slack bluish lips and grey tinged jaw to disappear into the mist.

Thomas no longer made a sound. He hung within Beckett's grip; head arched painfully backward between outstretched, hyperextended shoulders, toward his scapulas. His tracheal rings were exposed. Bright red blood dotted and rolled down his too white skin. The jugular pulse became visible, racing for only a few seconds before diminishing in tiny little swells that leveled out into a calm, unmoving stream.

Beckett lay, heaving chest down, against his branch, holding onto Thomas's two wrists with no return grasp to aid him.

The once vibrant blue eyes were dull and stared at nothing.

Thomas should have been heavier. Though he no longer breathed and his heart no longer pumped, the Corporal continued to shudder and lurch within Beckett's grip. Thomas became lighter and lighter with each tearing, wrenching motion.

The slick wrists began to slip through Beckett's clenched fists. Unwilling and perhaps unable to give up, Carson lunged forward readjusting and tightening his grip. He dropped a leg to curl around his branch to gain more leverage.

His right foot dipped into the building mist.

Something sharp latched onto his ankle-high boot and lower leg. He screamed, mimicking Thomas from only moments before. Beckett yanked his foot upward, tearing a hamstring and pulling a gluteal muscle. Muscle fibers gave without him noticing.

A clinging weight tried to drag Carson's leg back downward into the circling fog. He felt teeth or perhaps claws pressure their way through his boot and into his skin. Beckett screamed and threw himself upward, relinquishing his grip on Thomas.

The corporal disappeared into the mist.

Beckett lunged for a higher branch and hauled himself forcibly upward.

Something clung to his foot.

Tears sprang to Beckett's eyes as he shook his leg, gripping the tree branch above his head and tried to haul himself higher into the tree. A weight pulled on his right leg. His knee popped. His hip stretched. He kicked his leg desperately trying to dislodge the unseen creature.

In wild panic, he lifted himself, attempting to scramble further from the ground, using the pure brute strength of his shoulders and abdomen, gaining a few precious inches. He leaned forward, hooking his chest over the branch, anchoring himself. He shook his leg again, sheared at it wildly with his left leg.

Finally the boot fell free. The murderous weight suddenly disappeared and Carson heaved himself up onto the higher branch.

He clambered upward, away from the mist, away from the lower branches which were covered with his sweat and Thomas's bloody spittle.

Carson scrambled and clawed his way higher, desperately seeking to get away from the circling mist and the last body of SGA-4.

Beckett finally stopped climbing, when leaden arms would reach no further. He settled heavily on a thick branch, leaned solidly against the smooth trunk, keeping himself tight to its substantial core and gulped for breath.

He closed his eyes and listened to the wheezing heaving breaths that masked his racing pulse.

His right foot, devoid of a sock and boot, bled freely. Fat crimson droplets dangled from the torn arch of his foot, meandered around his shredded ankle and streamed from his furrowed lower torn calf.

Thick blood droplets hung heavily to freshly ragged skin to finally break away from the body and free fall. Some drops landed squarely on the branches below, splashing slightly, sending tiny waves of motion upward and outward. Others skimmed along the sides of branches, marring the wood. Others still, fell free all the way to the ground uninterrupted only to be swallowed by the mist.

Within the mist, where the fresh blood fell, sharp growls and fierce snarls erupted as the gnashing of teeth and tearing of flesh herald a brutal fight over the taste of unsullied blood.

Beckett, yards above the ground, kept his face buried in his shoulder, fighting for breath as three of his limbs encircled the body of the tree.

His damage foot dangled freely, dripping blood. The steady splat of thick droplets of blood tantalized and teased the unseen predators below.

The only movement noticeable was the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he fought to catch his breath.

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	2. Chapter 2

some changes post betas---mistakes belong to me; the story is done, just got to tweak the things that reveal themselves along the way.

**Part 2**

Dr. Weir gazed up from her computer tablet when John and Rodney entered the conference room.

She smiled tightly to herself when the Colonel bestowed Dr. McKay with a light slap off the back of the head.

"Hey, watch it!" McKay groused ducking his head toward his chest and rubbing it meaningfully. "You damage the brains and Atlantis is as good as lost."

Elizabeth smirked as Sheppard rolled his eyes.

No one, however, disagreed with the statement.

The two slightly tardy men took their seats. Strangely enough, next to one another. They irritated one another both verbally and physically, but never deeply. It was a strange relationship based on a solid friendship that bordered on brotherly. A fierce loyalty interwove itself and dabbled on the edge of over protectiveness when facing outside foes.

However, externally the two were like stinging nettles, madly irritating, blistering and puritic.

McKay and Sheppard had the exquisite ability to slice into one another with the precision of a finely edge surgical scalpel.

Ronon sighed and slouched further into his chair. Teyla gave the two men her patent patient smile.

"Gentlemen."

"Elizabeth," Colonel Sheppard responded.

McKay ignored the greetings, dismissing them as frivolous. He was here; the others knew it and that should be enough. Greetings shouldn't be necessary at this stage. Or any stage for that matter.

"When's Carson getting back?" Rodney rubbed at the back of his head glaring at Sheppard.

The colonel returned the glare with a simple smirk.

"Well, that's the problem," Weir started.

"They're overdue," Sheppard stated, knowing what needed to be done. He was already mentally compiling a list of what gear they would need, what extra ordinances they would take. Lieutenant Hopkins was a resourceful no-nonsense type guy. If he and his team were late checking in than something was wrong.

Hopkins was a quiet force of nature. He was one of the few officers under Sheppard's command that did not bend to Beckett's inconspicuous strong will.

"We should go looking for them," Ronon started straightening up in his chair with the intention of pushing away from the table. He did not believe Dr. Beckett should be left in the hands of other teams. They had done it once, and the results were less than ideal. The man attracted enough trouble to rival McKay.

Weir watched Dex from the corner of her eye and marveled at the simplistic view in which Ronon saw the world, or galaxy. There were good guys and bad guys or Wraiths. Good guys fight bad guys. Friends get into trouble; you get them out of trouble. Consequences and reactions were not something he fretted about. Each problem was addressed in a singular fashion and head on.

Life was simple for Ronon.

Weir silently wondered if it really was that simple. And concluded only if one didn't want to look too deeply into a situation. She sometimes wished she could see the galaxy the same way as the Satedan.

A black and white world with no shades of grey seemed so much more manageable.

Her introspection was interrupted by the sudden agitated appearance of rumpled, blue shirted, Dr. Zelenka.

If someone didn't know the man, they would think that he always appeared harried and on edge. Working with Dr. McKay could do that to people. However, after a while Elizabeth had learned to read the different levels of unkept and disarray that Zelenka's appearance constantly portrayed.

He entered the room in a flurry, already speaking before being acknowledged.

Weir straightened up, mimicking Sheppard's, Ronon and Teyla's postures as they too read the dire air that encompassed the scientist.

McKay simply stopped moving and focused his whole attention on his associate.

"I think we have a problem."

"We have quite a few problems, Radek. Could you narrow this down a little for us?" Rodney sighed with impatience.

"SGA-4 and Dr. Beckett are over due from P3X-416."

"Yes, we know that," Rodney stated with an air of barely muted irritation. Why couldn't people quit stating the obvious and just cut to the problem?

"I was searching the data banks, testing our new search program that would allow us to seek out key words or phrases from the Ancient data base and list them order of most likely …."

"Like Google?" Sheppard asked, slightly intrigued.

McKay sighed and covered his eyes as if having to deal with foolish comparisons was going to kill him.

"Yes, like Google, but better." Radek's eyes shone with unadulterated pride.

"No, not like Google, not really," Rodney clarified.

Sheppard quirked an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because, it is not based on the same logarithms. We won't be constrained by…."

"Rodney," Elizabeth warned, stopping the scientist before he could gather momentum.

Weir turned her attention back to Zelenka. A knot had formed in her gut. Radek, however sweet and well mannered, always seemed to be the bearer of bad news. This time appeared no different. "How does this pertain to Team 4 and Doctor Beckett?"

Ronon was already checking his weapon. Apparently the Satedan had associated Dr. Zelenka with the messenger of doom as well.

"They're in trouble," Dex stated pushing back from the table, ready to act.

"No doubt," Rodney agreed tiredly. Carson was a menace off world.

"Let's just everybody hold on." Sheppard turned his steely gaze back to Zelenka. Then to Ronon and Teyla "I thought that world was supposed to be uninhabited."

The room fell into silence and seemed to spark with tension.

"What'd you find, Radek?" The colonel stared to Teyla and then Ronon.

"Nothing good, I'm afraid." Radek pushed a chair out of his way and settled his laptop onto the conference table. "P3X-416 is not uninhabited." His glasses slid slightly down the bridge of his nose.

He ignored them and focused on the data at hand.

Weir noticed this and found her heart skipping a beat.

"Whoa, whoa wait a minute---The whole idea was for what's his name?" Rodney impatiently snapped his fingers trying to dredge up the name. "Hopkins or Hodgkins or whoever, to take his team and investigate it as another potential alpha site."

McKay shook his head in frustration. Since the fiasco with Michael and the yo-yo conversions of the other Wraith, it was impossible to know what they had gleamed from Carson and what they had not.

Two days could be an eternity. Sometimes so could an hour. McKay unconsciously rubbed at his forearm.

Beckett had no concrete recollection of his time under Michael's influence. He carried a sense of fear and trepidation but nothing solid. Rodney noticed small things affected Carson since his rescue from Michael. Beckett no longer slept on the infirmary beds on overnight shifts, choosing to doze in his office instead. No restraints were left within sight or associated with the beds. The smell of canvas tents turned his stomach. He shied away from entering the temporary huts still used by some Athosians on the mainland.

It was little things that left Carson with a vague sense of dread.

Even with Heightmeyer's intervention, they learned nothing about what the Wraith had pulled from Beckett. It was as if Michael had retrieved what he needed and then erased the memories associated with those two days Carson had been trapped within his clutches.

Biro had scanned, measured, traced and imaged Beckett's skull, brain and CSF. Every test ran matched tests results recorded before leaving the SGC for Atlantis, even those associated with a stress profile were compatible.

As far as they knew Michael had not planted anything either.

The senior staff was scrambling to try and create back up plans for their back-up plans. The Daedalus supply trips had been re-scheduled, routes had been altered. New security codes, IDCs, etcetera, were changed. All senior staff had to relearn new ones. That in of itself sparked an avalanche of arguments. Even if Beckett couldn't recall others security codes who was to say he hadn't seen them once or twice or witnessed them typed. If he had glanced at them, then somewhere in that mind of his, the information sat, and potentially was now in Michael's hands.

If Michael had survived. And they believed he had. Nothing, since coming to the Pegasus Galaxy, had been easy.

They sent a team to check out a potentially new alpha site. An abandoned planet, no reason for the Wraith to be paying an unexpected visit, no fickle native people, it was supposed to be a milk run.

The milk run had apparently just turned sour. The non-inhabited planet was inhabited. _Fantastic_.

"Yes," Radek stated lifting his gaze from the tablet. He stared directly at Sheppard and then Weir. "But, I know why it remains uninhabited by indigenous people of this galaxy."

Weir closed her eyes briefly and then turned to John.

_Dear God not another team._

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Beckett lay back on the thick tree branch and stared at the bark on the limbs above him. All around him, branches moved gently in the soft breeze. Long threads of his torn pant leg waved in the light wind like flagella. His hair was too stiff with sweat and dirt to move as individual strands, but the fine fingers of wind along his forehead and scalp felt refreshing.

His foot and lower leg had stopped bleeding long ago. He kept his torn foot slightly elevated on a nearby branch. It simply cut down on the throbbing pain.

He had no supplies on him to treat the wound. He had nothing with him but the clothes on his back. His pack and vest lay somewhere inaccessible on the forest floor surrounded by some of the bodies of SGA-4

His butt had gone painfully numb from sitting on an unyielding tree branch. He shifted position periodically giving one side a reprieve while the other side lost sensation.

He wiggled his bare, blood-encrusted toes periodically, pleased to see them move despite the pain it caused. The black flies that settled on the torn flesh and dried caked blood to feed rose in a hum of annoyance, hovered like a dark cloud for a moment and then settle back down on the open crusted wounds.

His toes felt fattened and stiff. He tried moving his ankle a few times, but it caused more pain and discomfort than he cared to deal with at the moment.

The flies didn't budge when he arched his foot or rolled his ankle left and right. Their tiny little feet and light little wings itched his torn foot, but there was little he could do to stop it.

Maggots would appear soon. Probably sooner than a rescue. The thought of maggots repulsed him. Who knew if maggots in the Pegasus Galaxy restricted themselves to just dead tissue? _Maybe the Pegasus Galaxy didn't have maggots. Not likely. They had their own version of the common cold, why wouldn't they have maggots, too?_

Sure maggots were good for skin debridement, but he'd take good old-fashion albeit modern medicine, and have a surgeon cut and peel the questionable flesh away.

No larval life forms feeding off his flesh. No sir. Too much like Wraith to his way of thinking.

It was hot. Terribly hot, or so it seemed. His skin felt hot, even though if asked he would have admitted to being cold. It made no sense to him. His face felt hot, his scalp felt as if it was burning, but a coldness gripped his bones.

Probably a fever. He didn't even have ibuprofen or acetaminophen in his pockets. Nothing.

His butt hurt too, more than just painful numbness from sitting in a tree. It was just his right gluteal. Perhaps he pulled something. His hamstring felt no better.

Beckett slowly turned his head away from the crisscrossed branches that blocked out the light blue sky of a fading day, to focus on the distant tree covered slope that lead to the gate. He refused to look straight down at the now visible ground. He refused to bear witness again to the bare, gnawed bones that once belonged to the animated Corporal Edward Thomas of New York. A diehard Yankees fan. Despite that, he seemed like such a nice lad.

Carson leaned heavily against the trunk. He gazed through the branches, and forest of trees in the direction of the unseen gate.

On the bare hillside, nestled behind the Stargate, sat a thin white mist.

It appeared nothing more than groundcover. It was almost picturesque. It kind of reminded him of the mist that overlaid the moors. However, the mist at home didn't eat people, no matter what his crotchety uncle William had tried to tell him as a kid. Uncle William would probably swallow his dentures if he saw this mist.

Beckett chuckled. What he wouldn't give to hear his bent, crooked old uncle rap his cane against the end table and threaten him with wallop to the britches if young Carson didn't pay attention. Uncle William was all talk, whether or not he could find his teeth.

Carson stared in the general direction of the gate and wished he were home, back in the infirmary or better yet his lab.

The ocean mist off of Atlantis didn't try and eat people. At least not that he knew of, and he was pretty sure he'd know, because it would have invariably have tried to eat Rodney.

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The distant whoosh of an incoming wormhole nearly startled Carson from the tree. He quickly hit his communication device only to remember that he had lost it when he had lost the majority of SGA-4. He had no IDC to deliver, no communication. No way to warn whoever walked through the gate.

The mist began seeping toward the DHD.

Carson struggled to lift himself from the tree branch, but found his arms and shoulders quivering with exhaustion and his torn leg painfully thickened and poorly responsive.

He felt hot and cold all over, and not a joint in his body didn't ache. A headache settled heavily enveloping his skull from base of his neck to behind his eyes.

He slipped and nearly lost his balance. In blind desperation and panic, he spread his limbs out and caught himself. He jarred his damaged leg, banging the torn heel on a branch and scratched a twig up along a deep-crusted furrow in the back of his calf. Skin cracked and newly formed scabs pulled free of reddened living tissue.

A pitiful whimper trickled forth.

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Colonel Sheppard and his team huddled around Rodney and Zelenka as the two scientists commandeered control of the console that gathered feedback from the MALP.

The MALP disappeared behind the shimmering curtain of the wormhole.

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Carson watched with confused detachment as the mist slid down the far hillside, disappearing into the small valley where the gate sat. Beckett puzzled it over for moment, settling the side of his head against a tree branch. His eyes closed, trapping heat that seemed on the brink of boiling his eyes in their juices.

He sighed. He wanted to go home.

————————————————————————————

Sheppard leaned forward, one arm extended against the console, the other bent, his hand gripping the back of Rodney's chair.

"Is that fog?"

McKay rolled his eyes and shook his head. _Why did people feel the need to comment on simple obvious observations? However, there was the planet with the mist that 'sent' them home only in their minds. Fine, so there was very little that was obvious in the Pegasus Galaxy. Even the Wraith were showing some redeeming qualities…_McKay cast a quick glance at Sheppard and found himself loathing Koyla.

"Seems to be," Radek answered.

The group squinted, trying to make sense of the black, white and grey images that re-digitalized on screen from the MALP.

Rodney controlled the camera through his keyboard. His fingers flew across the keys tapping out commands in a rhythmic manner that was almost musical.

They could see the thick stone wall that stood just meters from the gate. It effectively kept darts from exiting through the wormhole. Unfortunately, it also excluded puddle jumpers.

"Wait, wait, go back, sweep back," Sheppard ordered. He leaned forward peering intently at the screen.

"There." He pointed unnecessarily at the grey image.

A short hiking boot laid on its side in a small patch of dirt and short grass. The laces were tied but the boot itself was discolored and torn.

Rodney typed furiously getting the MALP to focus in tighter on the orphaned boot.

The grainy picture was cleaned and, through the mist, they could discern where chunks of canvas boot had been pulled away revealing whitish insulating material. The rough rubber sole was missing great chunks. The rim of the boot was uncharacteristically darker than the material adjacent to it. The footwear appeared splashed with three tones of grey. They all knew the regular issue off world footwear was two toned.

Blood darkened the material.

They stared quietly at the empty boot.

"That's Carson's," Rodney stated unequivocally.

"How do you know?" Sheppard asked feeling his heart race. No way would one of his teams let a scientist go down without first sacrificing themselves.

"The knots in the laces. They are surgeon's knots," Zelenka clarified. "He is the only one who goes off world with such ties in his laces."

"Shit," Sheppard breathed. The empty boot lay on its side just within reach of the gate.

_Had they been that close? What happened out there?_

A shadow blacked out the screen. Then another. Something or somethings moved and swarmed within the mist. Outlines were blurred and melded within the shifting background.

Suddenly, a blurred clawed foot came into view. It had a boney ankle and the long metatarsals of a bipedal, however any similarities with a humanoid foot ended there. Blunt toes curled and arched into dark smooth claws. Even through the shifting shadows created by the fog, they could make out the delineating lines of ligaments and tendons that flexed and tightened under thickened blotched skin.

"What was that?" McKay's whispered question remained unanswered.

He tapped more commands into the keyboard. The MALP's camera began to rise away from the boot.

A muzzle and then a flash of teeth cut across the view screen. The boot was picked up and shook viciously left and right. Curved tusks distorted an almost human upper lip.

From the left, a two legged, patchy haired creature with equally long sinewy arms jumped onto the knotted, bone ridged back of the creature that had grabbed the boot. Ribs arched laboriously under taunt skin. A painfully tight hide stretched over thin tensile muscles of the upper body. Long hair knotted and twisted itself from the square skull over prominent scapulas to cover the knobby processes of barely hidden vertebrae.

A horrific fight erupted.

The boot lay forgotten under shifting feet and slinging saliva. The creatures tore at one another with tooth and clawed limbs. Within seconds, the clearly dominant, stronger creature pinned the weaker one to the ground by its too human shaped neck. The downed animal thrashed and twisted to no avail. It peeled back its darkened lips from under a great upturned snout and snapped at empty air. Small piggish eyes rove wildly under a prominent brow as it struggled to regain its feet. More creatures flashed into view and piled onto the losing animal ripping and tearing its furless flesh.

The boot was lost under the frenzied crush of mist-enshrouded creatures.

The camera was knocked slightly. The image shimmered. Finally, a creature ran from camera range carrying the torn boot within its jaws.

The laces bounced and slapped against the side of the shoe.

The surgeon's knot held true and the torn laces remained tied.

The frenzy died. Snarling quadrupeds scattered to-and-fro suddenly uninterested in the unmoving partially dismembered, creature on the ground.

The creature lay dead and gutted while a third struggled to gain its feet. Its back legs lay sprawled awkwardly behind itself, not working. It struggled, swinging its head left and right, snapping at any creature that came near. A shadow dove onto the struggling animal and then a second and third.

A lopsided short, intense struggle ensued.

After a moment they backed away, their faces discolored, gore hanging from teeth and curved tusks. The crippled animal lay on its side torn asunder.

"Son of a bitch," Sheppard muttered.

"Zrůdy zas," Radek mumbled.

Ronon stared at the small scientist. Zelenka sighed, "Monsters---again."

The small group kept their eyes glued to the screen.

"Perhaps Dr. Beckett's and Lt. Hopkins's luck will hold," Teyla said, though her tone lacked conviction.

The camera view became obscured by a full set of bared incisors. A tongue rolled out and swiped curiously across the lens.

"That is so not good," McKay whispered. He tried changing the angle of the camera.

Suddenly the image on the screen showed only open mouth and then darkness as the image shook radically, whipping side to side and then up and down.

They could see nothing for a brief moment.

The view finally cleared. They could see the base of the stone wall that stood just meters from the gate.

The camera lay on its side, the image only half a screen as if the lens rim had been bent or folded. Multiple shorthaired legs stepped over and in front of the camera. An occasional dark, hairless nose fogged the view. Curved twin bilateral tusks flicked the camera, rolling it side to side. A twisted misshapen paw manipulated the camera off its side and then steadied it.

The mist continued to roll and smoke its way over and around everything, blurring edges and obscuring movements.

The Atlanteans found themselves staring into the vertical gaze of square headed creature with the muzzle of a distorted, scarred, javelina. The creature stared at the camera with tiny eyes that sparkled with intelligence.

"What the Hell?"

As if the creature heard them, it lunged forward, mouth open, and crushed the camera, casing and all.

The screen went black.

————————————————————————————

Beckett cracked his eyes open. The lids peeled apart. Slits of blue eyes surveyed his immediate surroundings. Smooth grey bark blocked most of his view. A light sky brightened the distant horizon. The sun was rising. Or so it seemed.

He shifted his position, trying to ease the numbing ache in his butt. His right gluteal and hamstring still protested. He bent a stiff knee and mistakenly jarred his injured foot.

A quiet whimper escaped chapped lips.

A cloud of flies rose into the air, wings humming in annoyance; their continuous meal interrupted.

He let his eyes flutter closed. Exhaustion smothered him, but discomfort kept him from any true rest.

His foot itched with settling of the flies. Their little feet were almost maddening.

The sun was rising. It was another day. The mist had receded out of sight. The stargate lay within easy jogging distance.

Beckett sagged against the tree trunk, ignoring the rough texture of the bark that scratched his temple.

He didn't think he had the strength to fall out of the tree. He wiggled his toes, purposely irritating the flies.

It brought a fledgling smile to his shadowed face, Rodney was a bad influence.

————————————————————————————


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

Sheppard stepped from the event horizon, P-90 ready. He swiveled his upper body left and right, in short tight arcs. He grape-vined cautiously off the small raised dais and slowly descended the three steps. He heard Ronon exit the stargate next, followed by Teyla and then finally McKay.

The battered MALP sat near the DHD, twisted parts hanging off it like a misused erector set. Three of six tires were torn and flattened two on one side. Sheppard cautiously edged toward the machine. Large parallel furrows marred its side. Peeled metal curled along the edges of jagged holes.

He nudged the dangling and crushed camera lens and casing with the barrel of his P-90.

Dr. Zelenka was not going to be pleased.

"Oh, just fantastic another MALP chewed up and slimed. These things just don't grow on trees." Rodney stomped over to the rolling instrument and picked up one of the small control panels, examined it, the gnawed wires and crushed dials. "Useless."

"Should we not send it back to Atlantis, perhaps it can be repaired." Teyla sounded doubtful but a hard life had taught her not to just toss things aside based on appearance.

"Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Colonel?" Weir answered.

"We're going to send the MALP back through to you, see if there is anything that can be salvaged from it." The wormhole disengaged with a woosh. After a few seconds the distinctive sounds of the DHD dialing and the sudden inrush of the wormhole re-establishing itself filled the small clearing.

Eyes quickly searched the surrounding area looking for any hint of mist.

"Alright, let's roll Ms. Betsy back home."

"Do you have to name everything?" McKay's frustration was clearly audible.

"If only to irritate you, McKay," Sheppard smiled with a touch of genuine humor.

As a group, they wrestled and rolled the MALP up the three small steps. "Here it comes," Sheppard said. The MALP's tail end wobbled the last few inches through the event horizon before the liquid pool rippled over its tail bend as it disappeared.

"Any sign of the others?" Weir's voice sounded with digital clarity over ear sets.

"No, not yet. We'll keep in touch." Sheppard turned away from the shimmering event horizon. "Alright, let's go." He stepped off the dais onto the shortened brittle grass.

The others followed quietly.

As a team, they speared out in a wedge formation, Sheppard taking point, Ronon and Teyla staggered a step behind and between them McKay armed with a life sign detector.

Sheppard gently placed his booted foot on the parched ground, careful to avoid stepping on or clinking the broken bleached bones that dotted the area. A quick glance assured him they were not human bones.

Not true human bones.

The thickened diameter, the steeper curve of long bones and denser crests indicated something smaller but sturdier than a mere human. A flat partially crushed skull sat maxilla down, snapped and broken incisors digging into the dirt. Tiny black three jointed beetles scurried in an out of hollowed orifices. A nuchal ridge rose sharply over the occipital lobe and a prominent frontal ridge silently herald the promise that this skull did not belong to anyone from SGA-4.

"McKay?" Sheppard paused at the edge of the wall and snapped his head around its corner. No mist, no bodies, only bleached broken bones.

"Nothing, I've got nothing," McKay whispered back. From the periphery of his vision he noticed the tan ragged edges of broken shoelaces mingled and half buried in the dirt.

The surgeon's knot had held fast.

McKay turned his attention toward it.

"Leave it, Little Man," Ronon dictated not turning his attention from their flanks.

McKay hesitated only for a moment and stepped back in his place with the others.

With Sheppard on point, they traveled as a moving wedge from the small clearing and into the yawning dense pine forest to the planet's north.

In no time they would be separated every few feet by a tree or a marauding branch or some other sort of treacherous undergrowth. McKay didn't want anything between him and the rest of his team.

Behind them, the event horizon wavered and rippled. The wormhole would remain open for 38 minutes with the Iris in place.

Weir wanted communications open. She needed to know what happened to one of her teams and CMO.

————————————————————————————

Beckett tried pushing himself up off the trunk of the tree and straighten out a bit.

It was still sunny and he was hot. Irritatingly hot.

The sun was getting old. Having it shine day in and day out…_well day out was night._ He concentrated a little, day in and all day long was just unnatural. There should have been more clouds, perhaps a spot of drizzle. Not this incessant sun shine and brilliant blue sky.

There was nothing wrong with good thick cloud cover every once in while. A nice solid breeze could do a body good.

Unremitting sun was almost unnatural. _Unearthly, well unScotlandly_. _He had been to Seattle once. Seattle had pleasant weather. _

He brought a heavy hand to his forehead and smeared beading sweat with his fingertips.

Something wasn't right. His mind kept wandering off. _Too bad it wouldn't wander off in the direction of the Stargate and take the rest of him with it. _He chuckled, amused with himself.

He was sure his head was aching. It had to be. His face tingled, pins and needles really. It reminded him of the sensation when you realize you had had one too many stouts or some such nonsense. _One really couldn't have one too many stouts, but one could perhaps make errors in judgment when it came to pacing how many stouts one consumed in a given time frame._

Pacing was everything. Slow and easy and steady. Steady got the job done.

His teeth felt numb. Felt fuzzy too.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head and shoulder against the side of the tree trunk.

He kept one leg elevated. The one with the fat toes and clouds of flies. He wiggled his toes on occasion. It seemed to anger the flies. They would lift off, buzz about, flitter here and there and then settle back down. Wiggling his toes was a bit bothersome to him as well. It felt as if the skin of his feet and lower leg were jerky. The skin pulled like dry leather and felt as if it cracked. Occasionally he could feel something run down his ankle. Blood maybe, perhaps serum, maybe pus. He hoped not pus. Pus was never good near joints. It was hardly ever good, but near joints was especially concerning.

He furrowed his brow and tried to be concerned.

It took much too much energy.

It was hot. Sweat rolled down his face and the back of his neck. It trickled under his shirt and down his chest and between his shoulder blades.

He looked over at the other branch beside him and scowled at Rodney. The Rodney who wasn't really there, but pretended to be there. "You're a daft bugger, Rodney, you know that, don't you? You're not real. I'm not falling for it again."

McKay merely sat one branch over with his hands clasped in front of himself, a smug 'I know something you don't know' smile on his face and swinging his crossed ankles back and forth.

"I don't care what you know, Rodney. I'm not playing that game." Beckett harrumphed and rubbed at his eyes. "All you daft buggers should just go away."

Ronon sat on the next branch over, cleaning his sword. Beckett had taken a moment some time earlier to tell him that a sword in a tree was actually quite unsafe. Ronon had merely quirked an eyebrow as if to point out he wasn't real nor was the sword.

_Still real or not, safety was always an issue. However, Ford said you could be much too safe. Ford was gone. Not gone, gone, just kind of gone. Like Shane, gone. Not dead, but chose to leave gone. But not really like Shane. More like Ford. _

Carson's head hurt.

Teyla hummed silently to herself on her own branch waiting in her ever patient manner.

Across the way and slightly higher up, Colonel Sheppard persisted in trying to make airplanes out of the leaves around him. He had succeeded once, loaded it with tiny bits of bark and flew it at McKay.

It had hit McKay on the side of the head. Little pieces of shredded bark landed on his shoulders and the front of his coat and some fell down his shirt.

Rodney had gotten indignant and slightly put out.

At first it was funny.

Carson had even chuckled out loud, knowing that they weren't real. Ronon had smirked and that and of itself was kind of scary. Beckett found himself trying to scoot a little further from the not real smiling persona of Dex.

Teyla laughed in her peculiar soft manner and Sheppard appeared pleased with himself.

They all laughed right up until Rodney lost his balance and fell from the tree.

Beckett screamed and lunged for the falling McKay nearly sending himself crashing through the branches and to the ground.

Carson's fingers reached right through the ghost like wrists of Rodney, and for almost a split second in time they felt solid, felt real. Carson had screamed right along side of the falling Rodney and threw himself even further from his branch, jarring his foot and cracking scabs. Maybe this wasn't all some delirious rambling of his mind.

He missed grabbing McKay, but his own coat had snared a broken branch and kept Beckett from falling.

Rodney stared right up at him, blue eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream. He seemed frozen in a moment of time, but then the swirling mist swallowed him whole. He almost had the same color eyes as Thomas.

Ronon and Teyla had simply blinked away. Sheppard looked down past his own feet and shook his head, "Damn, that's gotta hurt." The colonel gazed back up at Beckett and gave him a coy boyish smile, "Don't ya think, Doc?"

"Aye," Carson answered, knowing that it would hurt but trying to puzzle out why it didn't bother him more. He situated himself more squarely onto his branch. It left him short of breath.

"You look rough, Doc. Maybe you should try and get some rest," Sheppard said. He rolled a thin twig between his lips with a half grin on his face. "See ya around?"

"Aye," Beckett answered. He blinked heavily and rubbed at his leg. It ached some.

The CMO rested his head on his crossed arms against a branch and fought for breath in the stifling heat.

His leg really didn't hurt much, unless he looked at it or moved it or thought about it. Otherwise it really didn't bother him much at all.

Somewhere in the back of his fuzzy mind he thought perhaps his present condition and occasional visitors should have concerned him.

It didn't, and they didn't.

He leaned his head against the tree trunk and allowed himself to be swallowed by the lethargy that drenched his muscles.

————————————————————————————

Sheppard stood just in front of the Satedan watching their point while Teyla kept watch of their Six. McKay stood in the middle, darting his gaze from the scanner to the surrounding forest.

"They did not come back this way," Dex stated as he straightened up. He dusted his fingertips on his upper pants leg. "They came this way, but did not make it back this far."

"Carson's boot…" Rodney started.

"Was probably carried this far by one of those…pig mutant things," Sheppard answered grasping at an adequate name for the creatures.

"We must hurry, the mist is rolling in." Teyla gestured with her P-90 to the distant fog that streamed down the bare hillside behind the gate.

"What are we going to do?"

Sheppard ignored McKay and tapped his radio. "Elizabeth, this is Sheppard."

"We hear you loud and clear, John." Her brisk authority did not hide her controlled concern.

"That mist stuff is coming down off the hillside. It's going to be around the gate in a few minutes. We're far enough away from it at the moment." Sheppard ignored McKay's wide disbelieving gaze and kept talking. "We're going to continue our search." He looked pointedly at Rodney, hoping to put an end to his dramatics.

Sheppard didn't begrudge McKay's sense of self-preservation, in fact, he understood it all too well. They expected Rodney to act indignant and put out when the situation called for it. Sheppard no more wanted to lose contact with Atlantis than Rodney, however, he couldn't afford to stomp his feet, wave his arms and sigh dramatically. Sheppard was the leading military person. He had to act self-assured, confident, as if he knew exactly what he was doing, when in reality he felt the exact opposite. Most times he was flying by the seat of his pants. In letting McKay act out a silent tantrum, it helped Sheppard maintain his grasp of cool detachment. It allowed him to conduct himself and proceed in the manner that was needed.

"We haven't seen any sign of Lieutenant Hopkins's team or Carson." The colonel glared at Rodney, warning him to knock it off. Rodney might have the right to flap his arms and groan in defeat at being subjected to perceived idiotic decisions at the turn of events, but Sheppard also had limits to patience.

"Okay, John. Just keep us posted."

"You don't get it, Elizabeth," Sheppard paused, "shut down the wormhole."

"What?" Rodney nearly cried.

"John?" Weir asked. "Do you think that's wise?"

"We won't be able to reach it any time soon and that mist is going to be crawling all over it in just a matter of moments. Let's not test things too much." Sheppard squinted through trees down at the clearing that supported the gate. The fog swirled and climbed just over its lower symbols. The DHD stand disappeared from sight.

"Alright," the strain in Weir's voice understated her concern. "Find them and get back safely." There was a slight pause, "Atlantis out."

"Sheppard out."

The colonel tapped off his radio. As a group they watched the wormhole disengage.

Rodney's broad shoulders seemed to roll a little more inward. Teyla straightened her shoulders as if squaring them in preparation for sparring. Ronon re-adjusted his gun against his thigh and waited with a touch of impatience.

He was used to moving, not wishing for things that were otherwise.

"Alright, let's go find Carson and Hopkins." Sheppard turned on his heel and strode purposefully into the woods following the convoluted trail that had seemed to have swallowed their comrades.

Teyla brought up the rear and continued to watch the undulating mist that engulfed the gate, until the trees finally closed in and blocked her view.

The group slid deeper into the forest and further from the gate.

————————————————————————————

The sun steadily climbed. Temperatures skyrocketed and sweat glued clothing irritatingly tight to skin. Socks became saturated and wrinkled, shirts itched and underwear bunched. McKay adjusted his stride, wiggled a leg and cursed his choice of boxers. That pair were not going back in the 'off world' pile.

He held the life signs detector, glancing at it periodically, hoping it would flash four life signs. There had to be a way to modify them so that they could differentiate different types of life signs. He would really have to take the time and try and figure something out. Maybe he'd have Carson give him something to register that was strictly found in humans.

He wiggled his leg again, pulling on the bottom of his seat, hoping to free up the uncomfortable knot of material in a place he hoped never to develop any type of rash or blister.

He tried to snatch a peek over his shoulder to see if Teyla noticed.

He did have his pride.

It was then he noticed the single blip on the ancient device.

"Hey---hey---hey I've got something."

Ronon continued to walk on a little further. Something at the base of a large pine tree with low branches caught his eye.

McKay ignored him and focused solely on his detector.

"Where, McKay?" Sheppard asked as he stepped back to look at the reading himself.

McKay swiveled around a little, left and right in a tight arc before swinging back to the left again. He re-directed it, slowly bringing it to a stop, aiming it at Ronon.

"Right over----there," he stated unequivocally pointing at the Satedan.

"Great, McKay, you found Ronon."

"No, that's him there, that dot." McKay pointed to the second dot just on top of the other dot. "That's not him there."

Sheppard stared at the two overlying dots and then over at Ronon.

"McKay, I only see Ronon."

"I know that, but someone is here."

As a group, Teyla, Rodney and the Colonel turned in a small circle searching the wooded area.

"They made it to here." Ronon suddenly spoke straightening up from his crouch. He tossed a broken long bone back to the ground. Dog tags dangled from his loose fist.

The Satedan toed the broken and bent P-90 that lay twisted and maligned at the base of the tree.

"This is not Beckett," Dex stated nudging the gnawed loosely connected leg bones to the side.

"How do you know?" McKay walked cautiously closer the Satedan, still peering into the woods, looking for the source of the second life sign. It was not that he didn't want to believe Ronon, however, Rodney worked with hard facts, numbers, truths and knowns, albeit mingled in with unknowns. He needed proof, tangible evidence that he could refute if need be, because in trying to prove something wrong, often times solidified it as true. Besides, the thought of losing Carson to some primitive race of pig-like creatures just seemed hideously wrong. Heck, losing anyone to such creatures seemed cosmically wrong.

"These are too tall." Ronon rolled the ball of his foot over a string of vertebrae. The bones and hints of intervetebral discs rolled and curved under his foot. "And he does not wear these." Ronon held the dog tags by their chain allowing the flattened black rubber edged identification tags to bounce into one another.

"Where the hell is he?" Sheppard asked again searching the scarce underbrush that surrounded them. "He's got to be around here some where."

"Carson!" Rodney shouted turning in a circle. "Carson!"

Sheppard startled at the noise, "What the Hell are you doing?"

"I'm calling for Carson. What, you couldn't figure that out?" McKay snapped, frustrated that they seemed so close. "He's around here somewhere, probably hiding."

"I figured that out, Rodney," Sheppard responded trying to keep his patience, "but shouting for him might attract the MPTs."

"The what?"

"MPTs, McKay, the Mutant Pig Things."

"Oh, that is such a stupid name. That is just…just lame." McKay stuttered.

"You're just jealous because I thought of it first."

"You did not." McKay crossed his arms with an air of indignity. He had thought of it long before Sheppard, he just didn't say it out loud.

"Oh ,so you did think of it, not so lame now is it?"

"Should we not continue looking for Dr. Beckett?" Teyla asked. She kept her eyes on their back trail hoping the shouting had not alerted the mist creatures to their position.

"'Ello!" A jovial voice called from above them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

Four surprised sets of eyes slowly gazed up into the tree. Camouflaged amongst the branches and leaves, sitting with one leg stretched out and the other dangling downward, Beckett reclined with his back against the trunk of the tree. He waved to them, with his little truncated wave he often used when meeting new people or sentient beings or the occasional Wraith.

"Carson?" Sheppard asked. He blocked the glare of the sun with his hand and halfheartedly returned Beckett's wave, not bothering to hide his puzzled expression.

"Hello, Colonel. What are you doin' down there?" Beckett's carefree tone caught them off guard.

"He sound a little nutty to you?" McKay asked.

Ronon nodded, suspiciously surveying the general area for Lucius.

Teyla swung her attention from the missing doctor to the winding dirt trail that led back to the gate.

"Yes, yes he does." The colonel stepped closer to the tree hoping to get a better vantage point. "Been looking for you, Doc." Beckett was pretty high in the tree, thirty, forty, maybe fifty feet. Sheppard inadvertently nudged what was left of Thomas's partially broken ribcage. The bones rattled slightly.

He could fully understand the CMO's desire to reach safety. The colonel squinted his eyes, trying to adjust to the glare of the sun.

"Again?" Beckett answered back, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Lad, you keep showing up and then disappearing." There was a pause and then a slight admonishment, "You should really make up your mind and either go for good or stay. I'm gettin' a bit tired of you popping in and out of existence. It could make man go mad, you know."

The four at the base of the tree stared at one another in askance.

"Unless you're already there." McKay slowly looped his index finger in a circle near his temple. "He sounding a little Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs?"

Sheppard batted his hand down. "Knock that off."

"What are Cocoa Puffs?" Ronon asked.

"Breakfast food," Sheppard answered peering back up into the tree scrutinizing the physician.

"Why isn't it on Atlantis?"

"Poor planning," Sheppard said with a hint of disdain at the oversight. He tilted his head to the side trying to get a better look at Beckett.

"Carson, get down here," Rodney demanded tiredly.

"Not today. The beasties of the mist are too close."

"Dr. Beckett," Teyla tried employing her diplomatic skills.

Ronon merely reached up and grabbed the nearest branch and started pulling himself into the tree.

"Not coming down, Lass. But you best think about getting off the ground. That mist is rolling its way up here. It'll be here any minute." There was a buoyant quality to his voice that didn't quite match his situation. "You should just blink away. It would be for the best, I should think."

Sheppard looked to McKay and mouthed, "Blink away?"

McKay shrugged.

Ronon got himself settled on one of the lower branches and reached down for one of the others. "Beckett is right, the mist is coming. The creatures are near."

Rodney nudged his way past Teyla and jumped up and grabbed Ronon's hand. "Okay, pull me up."

"A little help," Dex grunted straining against the hanging weight of McKay. A well-placed shove from Sheppard got the astrophysicist into the tree. Teyla followed next, gracefully lifting herself up, folding herself onto a branch and effortlessly made her way toward Beckett.

Sheppard leaped, grabbed the branch and pulled himself upward. The P-90 stock jammed on the lower branch. "Shit".

"Hurry, Sheppard, the mist is coming."

The Colonel dropped back to the ground and unhooked his P-90.

"John, hurry." Teyla's urgency rang from high within the tree. The colonel noticed that the Athosian was already at Beckett's side. She looked to be checking him for either a head wound or lice.

Sheppard was hoping for a wound. Beckett held her canteen trying to drink and avoid her hands.

The Colonel shrugged and turned his attention back to the branch.

"Sheppard, it is close," Dex spoke again, his voice oddly flat but demanding without sounding anxious.

He handed the weapon back up to Ronon who simply handed it off to McKay.

"Colonel?" McKay muttered watching the mist roll in with increasing speed. It leached down the trail. Thin smoky tendrils slid along the dirt. Thicker fog rolled behind it, devouring the scarce undergrowth in its advancement. A shadowy hint of grotesque knotted bodies milling behind the fine mist were barely visible.

A trick of the eye perhaps.

McKay sounded anxious.

"I know, I know." Sheppard answered and jumped up grabbing for the branch.

He missed.

He dropped back to the ground. Mist began to encircle his feet.

"John." Teyla sounded alarmed. It made Sheppard even more anxious. Teyla only sounded worried if big things were about to happen; like imminent death.

Something solid nudged his ankle.

From above an accent laden, "Oh Crap," had Sheppard pulling his eyes from the accumulating mist to the low tree branch that was deceivingly high.

He jumped again. His fingers ghosted across the smooth bark, missing the branch by mere millimeters.

_Shit. _He was going to be in a world of hurt. Then a firm hand latched onto his wrist and brutally halted his descent and jerked him upward. Sheppard curled his knees to his chest and wrapped his calves and ankles around the branch and rolled himself into the limb with the guiding strength of Ronon.

The colonel, Ronon and McKay sat on the lower branches and watched the boiling mist thicken below.

"Colonel," Teyla's voice called from above, "we are going to need help."

Sheppard gave the swirling mist one last look before gazing upward. With a sigh and a pat to Ronon's shoulder, the Colonel started making his way toward Teyla and Beckett.

————————————————————————————

"Oh, that can't be good," Rodney stated staring at Beckett and then turning his attention quickly to Sheppard. "You see his eyes? Did you? Look at them. They shouldn't be that dilated." McKay turned his attention back to the CMO. "Carson, have you been self medicating? Practicing voodoo on yourself? Because your eyes are messed up. I mean seriously messed up….can you even see me?" Rodney began waving his hand in front of Carson's face.

Beckett half-heartedly swatted at the blurry hand. "You're a bit fuzzy Rodney, but I'm not complaining."

"Can you see anything?"

"Aye, the next rise over. It's clear now. Can't get to it. The gate sits below it." Carson sighed with a bit of despondency. He leaned against a thick limb, resting the side of his head against the smooth bark. He continued to stare at McKay with furrowed brows as if contemplating something important.

McKay stared back, trying to ascertain what might have caused bilateral dilation of the eyes. The giant black pupils obscured the majority of blue that Cadman found so fascinating. The inadvertent thought of Cadman made Rodney shiver

Carson continued to scrutinize the astrophysicist. Rodney squinted his own eyes waiting for Beckett to blink. It wasn't happening.

Sheppard had pulled his knife and slit Beckett's torn pant leg. He carefully eased the material back from the dried crusted wounds that had become swollen and discolored. Partially formed scabs pealed away, stretching lines of pale yellow pus and golden serum between haired skin and the caked pant material. Flies crawled unchallenged over and around the deep lacerations.

The Colonel swore quietly. "Teyla?" he said, asking for assistance without having to articulate the request.

The Athosian merely nodded and carefully eased the Colonel's pack off his shoulders and situated herself awkwardly beside him, facing Carson.

Beckett wiggled his foot and bent his knee in a haphazard distracted fashion, as if only vaguely aware of the attention his leg was receiving. He continued to stare at Rodney as if perplexed.

"Quit staring at me." McKay turned and looked to Sheppard and Teyla and then Ronon. "Why's he staring at me?" McKay turned back to Beckett. "Carson, quit."

Beckett seemed to have come to a decision and leaned forward and to the side and poked Rodney none too gently in the forehead with a scratched and dirty index finger.

McKay's head was pushed backward against the trunk of the tree.

"Hey! Quit that." McKay turned to Sheppard, "tell him to stop."

The colonel lifted his gaze from the torn ankle and watched Beckett for a moment. "Carson? You with us?"

"Of course he isn't. Or are his weird dilated pupils not evidence enough."

Carson reached over again and poked Rodney in the forehead with a little more force. McKay's head rocked back smacking into the tree a second time. Aggravated, he swatted at Beckett's hand knocking it to the side and banging it into a tree branch.

Beckett frowned and rubbed his hand. He squinted his eyes and finally muttered, "Ohhh, you're real."

"Gee, Carson, you've got how many degrees and you just figured that out?"

Beckett turned his attention forward and focused on Teyla. He reached out a shaking abraded hand to touch her. She took it in hers and squeezed. "Yes, Carson we are really here."

"Doc?" Sheppard started again. He draped a large compress bandage over the injured foot and scrutinized the doctor. They were going to have to address the wounds before they headed back toward the gate. "You give yourself any pain medication?" McKay was correct, the strange dilated eyes were unnerving.

"Nay."

McKay snapped his fingers. "Hit his head."

"You hit your head, Doc?"

"Nay."

"This is so useless, as if he will know if he's smacked his skull around like a pin ball," McKay pointed out.

"I did not find any wounds to suggest he injured his head," Teyla stated.

Sheppard sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. It was too hot to be sitting in a tree with a crowd of people and man-eating smog below them.

Sheppard focused his attention on Beckett. "Doc, I got to work on this foot of yours. It's a bit of mess. You up for this?"

"It doesn't ache near as bad as it used to, lad. Feel free."

"Perhaps the bite or claws release some sort of poison or toxin into their victim?" Teyla offered.

"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking, too," Sheppard answered as he cautiously dug through his pack that rested precariously beside his hip and against the tree trunk. He found a packet of antiseptic powder. He tore it open with his teeth, peeled the thick bandage back off Beckett's lower leg and began to pour yellow granular powder liberally over the scabbed and caked wounds. Beckett simply wiggled his foot left and right without much vigor as if trying to dislodge flies.

"How long does this fog hang around, Carson?" Rodney asked as he settled against the trunk on the same wide branch as the CMO.

"Aye a few hours, sometimes more, sometimes less."

"Like 3 hours, because a few normally means three. Or do you mean a couple like 2 hours or something much longer…like closer to a day? And a day, I mean an Atlantian day not an Earth 24 hour day."

Carson rubbed at his head and nearly lost his balance. Teyla's quick grab kept him steady. "Oh, thank-you, lass."

"Carson?" Rodney asked with a hint of impatience. "The fog?"

"Aye, it'll eat you alive if you're not careful Rodney. Dreadful stuff." Beckett closed his eyes and slumped to the side. "Ate Thomas," he whispered and scrubbed at the side of his head.

Sheppard paused in his work and glanced up at the CMO and quietly scrutinized him, wanting to hear more of what happened without having to push for it. "Do you know what the MPTs are, Doc?" Sheppard asked.

Rodney rolled his eyes at the absurdity of the name.

"Oh, Monstrous Pig Terrors, that's as good a name as any." Beckett stated with an air of solemn agreement.

Rodney sighed with disgust. Sheppard shrugged, that could work, too.

"We never saw them coming. It got Private Hurn first."

Ronon stopped studying the mist and turned his attention upward, making brief eye contact with Teyla before both focused on the doctor.

Beckett did not seem to notice and continued speaking. "Lieutenant Hopkins told us to run. Hurn never had a chance, poor lad. It wrapped around him before anyone knew what it was about." Beckett ran his thumb pad over the cut surface of his middle finger. The fingernail was bruised and the tip itself was scratched and cut. He spoke without looking up. "Peterson tried to save him, reached into it to grab him but he lost his hand." Carson sighed and drooped a little more, resting his forehead on a branch, "and then his arm." Carson closed his eyes. "He didn't mean to shoot the Lieutenant. It must have hurt terribly, having your arm gnawed off by those beasties. Hurt something horrible." Beckett twisted his head slightly and opened his strangely dilated eyes. He stared at Sheppard, who sat one branch over watching him. "The lieutenant tried to save him, told Thomas and I to get to the gate." _Hopkins had a big hole in his chest from P-90 fire. He shouldn't have been able to shout, not like he did, pneumothorax should have developed, not to mention hemorrhage. P-90 rounds to the chest should have kept him quiet, knocked him off his feet. It didn't_. Beckett shook his head slightly as if baffled by the strength exhibited by Hopkins.

"You did good, Carson," Sheppard stated in his low key, confident, manner that left no doubt about what he thought. He kept a surreptitious eye on the Doc while he worked on his foot.

Sheppard ground his teeth and peeled a pat of dried blood from the dusty heel of Beckett's foot. Something had clawed it, laying the fat pad open. As the Colonel worked, he thought on Hopkins. The man was well liked and well respected.

Lieutenant Hopkins had been a quiet man. Dreadfully stubborn. He used to give Beckett his undivided attention whenever the Doctor verbally refused to participate or perform some seemingly unnecessary military task. Hopkins always listened with rapt attention, often times nodding as if in total agreement with the doctor and when Carson had finished his spiel about not having to take orders, Hopkins would quietly inform the doctor that he was indeed going to complete the task set before him.

The Lieutenant had never raised his voice to Beckett or lost his patience, not once in the six months they had known one another. Never, until coming here, until the fog started its feeding. Lieutenant Hopkins then shouted, hollered and threatened them. He even went so far as to promise to shoot Beckett himself if the doctor didn't get moving. Of course, at that point, the mist had enshrouded Hopkins's legs and despite the gaping wound in his chest, he had screamed at the top of his lungs and fired blindly into the enveloping fog.

Carson had unholstered his gun and fired as well, joining Thomas. Two different weapons made completely different sounds. Carson fired until his gun clicked and grey gunmetal smoke spiraled from the barrel. He had fumbled for a re-load but then the Lieutenant, collapsed to his knees, weaving in place, and merely whispered for them to run.

Thomas grabbed Carson's shoulder, spun him around and pushed him toward the trail.

It was then Beckett shed his pack and ran for all he was worth, with Thomas just a step behind him.

Carson scrubbed at his face with a dirty cut hand.

The others shared worried looks as they slowly pieced together what had occurred.

"You made it this far, that is impressive," Ronon stated with his infamous brutally bare honesty that often timed rivaled McKay's.

They hadn't made it far enough or fast enough.

"How'd you know?" Carson asked swallowing thickly. His mouth was dry again. He couldn't seem to quench his thirst. Teyla unscrewed the top from her canteen and handed it over to him. "Thanks, lass." He turned to the others, "To come looking? To send a MALP?"

"You were late," Sheppard answered. He gently wiped yellow antibacterial powder over the deep furrows that stretched tangentially across the top of Beckett's foot.

"Dr. Zelenka found some information while searching the archives," Teyla further clarified.

Carson swallowed the lukewarm water, not minding the tinge of plastic taste. He felt incredibly worn out.

"Ahh, he got his Google program working, did he?" The CMO lifted the canteen to his lips with shaking hands. Water shouldn't be so scarce.

"It is not like Google," McKay repeated with weary impatience. He worked with mental midgets.

"Aye, alright, Rodney," Beckett tried to take a third pull from the canteen, but Teyla reached over and took it from his hands, softening her actions with a quiet but telling smile. Carson watched with some dismay as she re-capped the water container and hooked it back on her belt.

"Not like Google." The statement came across as placating and disbelieving as Beckett intended. He didn't have the energy or desire to badger Rodney in the manner he deserved or welcomed.

"Carson, stop talking," McKay ordered.

Beckett shook his head. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and down his lower back.

It was hot. It had been hot then too, sweltering. He wanted to go home, back to his infirmary. See the ocean and feel the breeze. Atlantis didn't have much humidity. The ocean breeze kept it at bay. The mainland, now that was humid. He didn't know how Teyla's people dealt with it. But he wasn't home, back on Atlantis or on the mainland, instead, he was stuck in a tree with flies hovering about, Rodney staring at him and Sheppard playing medic and Teyla watching him as if to catch him should he fall. It was all a bit unnerving in a detached way. Ronon perched a few branches below was oddly comforting. A giant gnarled haired buffer between the fog and himself. And the sword was no where to be seen, polished or otherwise.

He didn't plan on falling, but then again, Thomas and the others hadn't planned on getting eaten by fog creatures when they came to this planet. _Plans weren't much good if they weren't followed. _

Beckett slumped a little more forward and leaned to the side.

"No, no, no," Rodney panicked and grabbed for Beckett.

"Will you two keep still," Sheppard demanded around the plastic wrap roll gripped securely in his teeth. He unwrapped a few large quilted compression bandages they had packed and hoped not to use and started to envelope Carson's lower leg and foot, encasing them in thick soft padding. He rested the cut heel back onto his thigh.

Flies buzzed just over the torn areas, hovering with impatience, darting in and out, landing and crawling over both Sheppard's hands and the yellow antiseptic powder that coated the area. The colonel continued to wave the flies away as he adjusted the wraps.

"It's his fault," Rodney muttered with a hint of indignity as he tried to push his listing friend back up right.

Beckett continued to lean to the side, unable to keep himself from settling heavily into McKay's chest. He felt his forehead rest against Rodney's neck and sighed. He really needed to straighten up. This was embarrassing. However, it felt good to just relax.

McKay furrowed his brow at the radiating heat from Beckett's forehead. He looked up and stared worriedly at Sheppard. "He's really hot."

"Why, thank you, Rodney, but you're not my type," Beckett muttered.

McKay wrinkled his face and shook his head in disgust, "Oh, shut-up, Carson."

"Guess he has standards," Sheppard added as he looked up from wrapping the thick bulky bandages around Beckett's foot and lower leg.

"Oh great, coming from the man who has none." McKay tried to shift his weight a little, trying to alleviate the pressure on his posterior. Sitting in a tree was not all that comfortable. How did kids do it? Playing in trees and building forts and such? Of course, children weren't terribly bright, not like he was as a kid. He never played in trees, never made forts or swung down from them with ropes or played Tarzan or Indiana Jones, or other such nonsense. Well maybe he did, by himself, but never in trees.

"He needs to eat," Ronon stated, sitting comfortably on his branch just below the others, keeping an eye on the swirling mist that boiled and bubbled at the base of the tree.

"He's right here," Beckett mumbled, slightly annoyed that they were talking over, around and about him but not to him.

"Trust me, Carson, no you're not," Rodney clarified. McKay tried to push the CMO off his shoulder and chest.

Beckett ignored McKay's attempts to dislodge him and continued to rest heavily against the other man. Rodney would get frustrated and tired in a moment and then stop all his fussing. Carson figured then he'd get some true rest.

"Bugger off, Rodney."

"I wish." McKay tried working his hands between his chest and Carson's shoulder to push the dead weight off himself. It wasn't working. _Why wasn't anyone helping him?_

"Alright, you two, knock it off." Sheppard nodded his thanks to Teyla when she held out a strip of white porous tape. The colonel quickly used it to keep the overlapping edges of the quilted pressure pad in place while he fumbled for 3M wrap. "Hope you like camouflage green, Doc."

Beckett merely grunted. Rodney was a lot busier and louder than the tree itself, but he wasn't near as abrasive.

"Will you get off me?" McKay tried again to push the CMO up off his chest. "You're no feather weight you know."

Beckett settled even more securely and closed his eyes. _Maybe abrasive wasn't the correct word. _

"He needs to eat something," Ronon re-iterated. "If we are to make it to the gate, he needs more than water."

"I'm not hungry," Beckett muttered again and hid his face in Rodney's shoulder like a petulant child.

McKay rolled his eyes.

"We're not asking you to eat eggs and bacon, Carson." Sheppard didn't look up from his work as he spiraled the green wrap snuggly around the brown military issued bandage.

"Had a pig named Bacon Bits," Carson sighed, managing to relax even more into McKay. He was like a lumpy pillow. Kind of. Better than the tree at any rate, if he would just stop moving---and talking.

"Wh—What?" McKay stuttered as he shot out an arm to maintain his balance and keep him and Carson both upright and in the tree. Teyla's sturdy hand latched onto the front of his coat just at his shoulder.

"He was tan, part Duroc, named him Bacon Bits---he tasted good---especially on greens." Beckett closed his eyes and sighed with an air of contentment. His leg didn't hurt so much anymore, nor did his back and other assorted joints. _Rodney was like a divan, a talking divan…or a divan in a room with a TV on a touch too loud but the remote out of reach. Maybe he could ignore the noise. _

"You named your pig and then ate him?" McKay asked incredulously.

"Aye, Rodney, pigs aren't much good unless they're a side dish or on some bread or mixed with applesauce." Carson sighed, closing his eyes. "Or salted." He thought of home and pictured his mom's tiny kitchen. It always seemed bright with sunshine---well except at night. Their house had a yard with a big tree. His cousins and he played all sorts of games in the tree, Tarzan, Army, and Ambush. His mom didn't like ambush especially when it involved throwing her strawberries at unsuspecting relatives. The tree was a source of great fun. He and cousin Connor used to hang upside down like bats and pull on his cousin Emily's hair when she got too close. She used to beat them up. One time she used the garden hose to spray them out of the tree. They fell in his mom's petunias. Boy, was she mad as a hatter---his mom and well Emily, too. She chased them all the way down to Old Weird Uncle William's house. Emily, not his mom.

He chuckled.

"Oh, he is so not in there," McKay declared to the others peering over Beckett's coated shoulder and around his sweat beaded neck..

"Ossabaw swine have a thrifty genotype," Beckett rubbed at the side of his nose vigorously.

"Thrifty genotypes?" McKay furrowed in brow in confused frustration. "What that makes them more likely to shoplift, participate in petty crimes, what Carson, what exactly does that mean?"

"Ach, it means…ohh look a butterfly." He rested his heated cheek against Rodney's shoulder and stared at the large winged purple and black butterfly.

Rodney stared at the same spot, "Anyone else seeing a butterfly?"

"No." Ronon stated.

"Nor do I," Teyla confirmed.

Sheppard looked up from what he was doing stared at the branch, pursed his lips and shook his head and then continued with bandaging the foot.

"We're so screwed," Rodney muttered.

Carson lazily tried to free his injured foot from whatever manipulated it. It was getting bothersome and he was tired. _If Rodney would only stop talking_ _and jostling about._

"Easy, Doc, almost done," Sheppard held Beckett's padded heel on his thigh, keeping it still. Swollen, blood encrusted toes peeked out from under the rolled edges of the dressing. The Colonel started wrapping a third cover around the base of Carson's heavily bandaged foot. In this case, more was better. Kind of like ammunition on a planet with killer, predator fog. One could never carry too much munitions then.

McKay waved a piece of a small torn corner of tan gummy food near Beckett's face. It drew no response.

McKay tapped it a few times against Carson's forehead. "Hey, you in there? Here, have a piece of power bar. Its apple cinnamon. I haven't named it yet. Hope it doesn't keep you from enjoying it."

Carson turned his head away from McKay and settled even more solidly against the scientist, keeping his arms lax and extended downward. They were too heavy to move even though his hands were going numb and his fingers felt as blunted as his swollen toes. "No."

"God, you're worse than a little kid," Rodney accused. He studied the piece of highly digestible food, contemplating on the benefits of eating it himself. He eyed Ronon who watched him quietly with a hint of a threat and thought better of it. McKay turned his attention back to Beckett, who continued to lean against him like an oversized muppet. "How about if I name it, Pinky or Brain? Would you be interested in it then?"

"Bugger off, not hungry," Beckett muttered, closing his exceptionally dilated eyes. His muscles relaxed, losing all their tension and he folded completely into McKay's chest.

Rodney was unprepared for the sudden extra weight and yelped, kicking his legs outward as he felt himself slide back and toward the side of the tree trunk. Teyla's firm hand suddenly became two and Ronon quickly stood and steadied the threesome.

Beckett sat, eyes closed, crumpled and curled against McKay, his mouth partially open and his arms still straight down by his sides.

"He will not make it back to the gate in this condition." Ronon eased Beckett's weight off of McKay, giving the scientist a chance to settle himself comfortably before tilting Beckett forward and to the side again.

"Wait! What---what are you doing? Do I look like a lounge chair or a divan? Get him off of me! He weighs a ton! What if he gets sick or something? Get him off of me! He's like a furnace, that can't be good for me. Excessive body heat kills off brain cells you know." McKay tried to push Beckett's stout form from his shoulder to no avail.

"He needs rest." The Satedan lifted one of Beckett's limp hands and laid it across Carson's outstretched leg. The heavily congested vessels on the back of the doctor's hand deflated some, giving the fingers a chance to drain and re-circulate blood.

"Yeah, well so do I."

"Then get some, but keep Beckett from falling," Ronon stated and settled back on the lower branch.

The mist swirled and thickened at the base of the tree. Dark forms slid in and out of view just behind the thin veil of white camouflage.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

The sun was dipping toward the horizon. Long shadows stretched, folding over the forest floor as the day slowly slipped away.

The oppressive heat was finally easing its stifling grip. A soft breeze steadily kicked up. Pine needles and leaves turned over, exposing their lighter underside. The smell of pine and dirt became a little stronger.

Amorphous grey clouds quietly brushed their way overhead, muting the fading blue of the late afternoon.

Sheppard shifted again, trying to find a comfortable position on his tree branch. Sweat kept clothing clinging irritably to his skin. His posterior was more sore than he cared to admit, and if it was just his butt that hurt, he'd have considered himself lucky. He shifted again, lifting himself up off his branch slightly, trying to alleviate pressure from parts of his anatomy that should never suffer from too much pressure. _How the Hell had Beckett sat up here for so long? No wonder he leaned against McKay. This was torture in its own right. _

The colonel shifted his gaze over to Beckett. The doctor dozed slack jawed, laying flat on his back on a particularly thick branch that swooped slightly upward. They had given up trying to keep the Doc's arms crossed over his midsection and allowed them to dangle downward. Small rivulets of sweat ran from his temple back into his stiff hair. Sweat even managed to bead on the back of his hands. It all appeared alarmingly uncomfortable but, he didn't seem to care.

Sheppard had to concede that Carson's cards, so to speak, weren't all shuffled in the same deck. They had straightened Beckett's leg out when they eventually eased him off of McKay. His injured foot looked much improved. Having a bandage covering the open wounds and keeping the flies from it could only help. The bandage was thick, tight and thumped quite loudly just as it should when flicked with a forefinger. Sheppard was pleased with his workmanship.

Ronon stood on a lower branch, keeping his hip adjacent to the limb Carson slept and prevented at least one of his arms from hanging too uncomfortably toward the ground. It also seemed to keep the CMO a little more secure on his branch.

Rodney sat, dangling one leg with his back flush to the tree trunk one branch up. He fiddled with his computer tablet and life signs detector. Every once in a while he'd aim the life signs detector at Teyla or Ronon or Sheppard. This normally resulted in a grunt, which somehow conveyed curiosity, and then he would strike a few random keys on the tablet and re-check the detector reading. This had been going on for almost a solid hour and a half.

Sheppard had inquired what Rodney was up to, but Rodney had waved him off and told him to be quiet he was working on an idea.

Teyla merely quirked an eyebrow from her perch on the branch, just slightly elevated and to the side of Beckett's. The Athosian casually reclined on her branch as if sitting in a tree on a strange planet was a daily occurrence for her.

Sheppard shifted again, freeing up one pinched upper leg while inflicting abuse on the other. He truly detested no win situations. With a sigh, he tried reclining back on his branch, but it swooped up too steeply. His clothing clung to the bark, but he slid downward within his own off world uniform. The self induced wedging of material in body crevices and junctures kept him sitting up and trying to relieve pressure off his butt and other associated sensitive organs.

He climbed restlessly to his feet and stared off through the wavering trees, biding his time. The slight wind held his coat securely to the small of his back. The partially zipped front fluttered left and right, billowing slightly as air swooped back on itself to fill space. His damp t-shirt adhered to his stomach, delineating the fine lines over his abdomen. Sweat dried at the back of his neck offering welcomed relief from the heat.

"The Mist is receding," Ronon announced.

"About damn time," Sheppard groused as he watched the fog thin and slowly slide back along the path toward the gate. "Damn," he muttered.

The others, minus Beckett, followed his gaze. Rodney watched for just a moment and turned his attention back to his tablet.

Ronon, Teyla and Sheppard watched the lazy pull of the mist as it retreated, obscuring the forest floor, traveling back in the general direction of the gate.

Thunder rolled in the distance. The breeze gathered strength and quietly became a brisk wind.

"We should go," Ronon stated.

"Wait, wait, wait," Rodney muttered, "I'm almost done."

"Rodney, we are not waiting for anything." Sheppard turned his piqued attention from McKay to Teyla. "Help me get him up."

The first fat droplet landed squarely on Beckett's closed left eye.

————————————————————————————

It took some time, a little bit of cajoling, a few concerned inquiries, but after a couple of false starts they had Beckett sitting up and making some sense, in a convoluted, not really paying much attention to what he was saying, way.

A heavy rain patted the area.

The sun had practically dropped from sight below the horizon and night flashed upon them like a falling tapestry.

As a group, they scaled their way down from the tree, with Teyla leading the way and McKay bringing up the rear. Ronon kept a firm hand knotted in the shoulder of Beckett's offworld coat and merely guided him from branch to lower branch. Sheppard, keeping a branch below, unobtrusively directed the Doctor's searching booted foot to the next limb.

The doctor's grotesquely dilated eyes seemed incapable of focusing on anything up close.

After a few unexpected slips, a couple of squashed Colonel fingers, countless unsolicited directions from McKay, a myriad of Satedan curses and innumerable apologies from Carson, the group eventually reached the lowest branch.

Teyla and Ronon dropped effortlessly to the forest floor.

McKay scooted past Beckett who sat, eyes closed and leaning against the trunk of the tree, apparently exhausted by the effort to climb. With a worried frown tossed to the Colonel, Rodney squatted on the branch and delicately lowered his tablet down to Teyla. Once secured, he hesitantly slid his feet from the wet branch and hung stiff armed, stretching with his legs trying to get as close to the ground as possible before letting go. "A little help here," he gasped

"Let go," Ronon offered.

McKay skewered his features in disgust and was about to retort when his hands slipped on the wet bark. He hit the ground with a yelp landing on both feet. He teetered to the side, waving his arms and flashing out a leg to capture his elusive balance. Rodney remained standing. He grinned at the others pleased with his ability and gracious agility.

Sheppard sat on the lowest branch with Beckett. The doctor kept his eyes closed and head leaning against the trunk of the tree with his arms draped heavily along his sides. Sheppard put a hand to the CMO's forehead, unhappy with the fever. There was nothing they could do for it here. Tylenol and ibuprofen had been given to no avail.

"Stop," Beckett mumbled without making a move or opening his eyes.

"Okay, Doc, you ready?" Sheppard situated himself on the branch getting ready to help ease the doctor out of the tree---hopefully maintain a controlled fall of some sort. He braced a foot against the side of the trunk, grabbed for an overhead branch with his left arm and reached for Beckett with his right.

Without warning, Carson merely dropped from the branch to the ground.

"Whoa!"

"Carson!"

Different sets of hands snapped out to grab him.

Carson crumbled to the left and bodily toppled into Ronon. The Satedan merely stepped with the tumbling physician and supported his weight and keeping him on his feet.

Sheppard cocked his head to the side, unsure of what to think of Beckett's muddled thought processes. With a resigned shrug, the colonel lowered himself from the tree. He landed lightly, his feet sinking into the softened wet ground.

Sheppard surveyed the others through the soft curtain of rain. They could make the gate… if their luck held.

Beckett stood on his own, albeit weaving in place and with unequal weight displaced on his feet. Sheppard wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever was keeping Beckett's eyes grossly dilated was keeping his foot weight bearing. That hopefully would translate into Carson moving under his own power leaving the others with free hands and better access to weapons.

Rodney had secured his computer tablet on his back. His .9mm rested unobtrusively on his lateral thigh. It seemed to fit him better or perhaps his growing confidence with the weapon did not make it appear as such a dangerous anomaly.

The sun had disappeared and a full moon hung low in the sky, as if too heavy to travel much higher. Dark clouds wisped in front of it, obscuring it for only short moments.

"Ach, the moon is red," Beckett stated with a heavy sense of doom. His uneasiness was clearly audible.

"Red?" Rodney stared up at the moon, "Oh God, it is red." He turned to Beckett, "What does that mean? The moon being red?"

The others stared at Beckett with building apprehension.

"It's Red," Carson whispered again stepping back toward the tree.

"Yes, Carson, we see that," McKay had had enough of this planet's bizarre, twisted and freakish nature. "What horrible things come out on a red moon?"

"Ach, I don't know," Beckett whispered, "but its kind of creepy looking."

Rodney waved his arms in annoyance spraying small droplets of rainwater from his coat. He turned away from the physician in muted frustration and faced Sheppard. "Do something about him."

"You don't think it's a bit creepy, Rodney?" Carson asked.

McKay stared at Beckett incredulously. "Oh, don't tell me I'm the only one who thinks he's a few flakes short of a full bowl of Fruity Pebbles?"

"Alright come on." Sheppard hefted his P-90. "I've got point. McKay, Teyla, you've got Beckett. Ronon watch our backs."

"I don't want 'got'---I want to go home," Carson muttered quietly to himself. He rubbed at the side of his head with dirty hand causing his hair to stand on end. Rainwater trickled between his fingers and onto the back of his moving hand. He shook it irritably, spraying fine droplets of water into the air. Rain continued to hit his hand.

McKay stared from Beckett to Sheppard with an almost pleading look.

Carson, intent on his hand, tried drying it on his equally wet jacket. His frustration quickly grew until his moving fingers captured his attention. He flexed his fingers, staring at them as if seeing them for the first time. A small smile dimpled his cheeks. He stared, mesmerized at his curling and uncurling fist. Hands were a marvelous bit of evolution; Agile, flexible, capable of delicate fine motor control. Simply phenomenal.

Teyla cocked her head sideways and sighed, casting a worried look to Ronon who merely shrugged.

Sheets of rain poured from the sky.

"If we got something shiny, we could lead him to the gate," Rodney muttered.

The Colonel threw a glare to McKay and then turned to Carson. Beckett continued to weave in a slight circular motion, staring at his furling and unfurling hand. His hair was matted on one side and stuck up in multiple directions on the other. Dirt and grime darkened his uniform and exposed skin. "Carson?---Carson?" Sheppard called just a touch louder and with a little more authority than usual.

The colonel exhaled with a tired, put-upon expression and leaned over and shook the Doctor's shoulder. Carson looked up with wide dilated eyes that nearly completely masked the blue irises.

"You with me?" Sheppard searched the Scot's dark eyes, hoping to see some spark of lucidity. He sighed, slightly disappointed. "I want you to stick close to Teyla and Rodney, and do whatever Teyla tells you. You understand me?"

Beckett nodded.

Sheppard squinted his eyes, uncomfortable with the easy compliance, "What are you supposed to do?"

"Listen to Teyla."

"Alright then," Sheppard patted Carson's shoulder in encouragement and smiled tightly. He turned on his heel and took the lead. "Let's go." The others started moving out. McKay fell into step a few feet behind the Colonel.

Beckett remained rooted in place gazing uneasily at the moon and its deepening red hue. It reminded him of the color of blood. Hopkins blood had been bright red, but not Thomas's. His had been dark, maroon just like the moon that sat just above the treetops.

He didn't like that color. Not one bit.

Ronon hefted his gun and stood hipshot. "Doc, let's get going."

Carson remained relatively still and stared at the moon. _Un-oxygenated blood was that color. Blood fresh from the portal veins and pulmonary arteries and other places. Not good, not good at all. They weren't going to make the gate. _He wanted back in the tree.

Sheppard turned just in time to see Teyla reach out and gently tug Beckett into line, "It is time to go, Dr. Beckett."

The colonel hesitated a moment, "Carson?"

"We should get back in the tree."

"No, Doc we're heading home," Sheppard clarified, slightly unnerved at Beckett's behavior. He shared a concerned look with McKay who merely stared back and mouthed, "Fruit Loops---Looney Tunes."

His exasperation and apprehension were felt by everyone.

The MPTs were out there somewhere.

Carson continued to stare at the moon. McKay took a hesitant step closer to Sheppard, slightly distancing himself from Beckett. Who knew, it could be contagious. "Come on, Carson, it's dark and we're getting wet," McKay pointed out with all the impatience of a brilliant scientist having to deal with simpletons.

Beckett shook his head and took an uneasy step closer to the tree.

"Teyla," Sheppard quietly commanded and turned back down the trail. "Let's go, McKay."

Teyla smiled kindly at Carson and gently directed him to follow the others. As they stepped down the trail, she turned and gazed back over her shoulder to Ronon. Even through the shadows of night and the thin veil of rain, she could easily read his worried but resolute expression.

The Colonel slowed his pace, compensating for the CMO's shuffling limp. Within a few steps, Carson's toes were caked in the heavy thick dirt of the newly soaked trail.

The bandage that wrapped his foot wicked the moisture and accumulating grime from the steadily mudding trail.

The bandage slowly began to loosen and unravel.

————————————————————————————

Dr. Weir peered over Radek's shoulder as they read more about the data Ancients recorded concerning P3X-416. "What was that?" She pointed at the laptop screen. "There. Lightning storms?" She paused and furrowed her eyes in thought, "Why would the Ancients bother mentioning electrical storms on this particular planet?"

Dr. Zelenka merely shook his head, "It says that they occur approximately every 100 years or so." He scanned quickly, slowly scrolling down and finally let loose with a low whistle. "Dr. Hanna would love this--- ball lightning---projectile, large ball lightning. Very unusual."

"Do you think we have to worry?"

"It says such storms only occur every 100 years or so with the appearance of a red moon. What are the chances…?" Radek trailed off with an ominous sense of premonition.

Weir and Zelenka stared at the computer screen with increasing concern.

The quiet Canadian control tech softly added, "It _is_ Colonel Sheppard's team."

"And Rodney's down there," Radek stated. He leaned back in his chair pushing his glasses further back on the bridge of his nose and quietly wondered how McKay survived this long in life.

"With Carson," Weir whispered with a building sense of dread, dropping her chin to her chest.

"They're doomed," the three chorused quietly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Had to fix some stuff. Again the ball lightning is Sci-Fi all the way and not the same that is believed to exist here on Earth. Iowa maybe but not on Earth in as a rule**.

**Part 6**

The group shuffled along the darkened path, making better time than Sheppard had hoped. The gate was less than a soggy half-mile away. The colonel picked up his pace, knowing he was definitely pushing Beckett. The gate was close. They could all rest once they got back to Atlantis.

An unusual whistling slowly made itself known, building in intensity. Sheppard felt his stomach tighten well before his conscious mind recognized the sound.

"Incoming!" He shouted at the top of his lungs. He dove to the ground, throwing his arms over his head and burying his face in the mud. He could barely make out the sounds of bodies hitting the trail.

The sudden explosion had them covering their heads and digging into the wet trail. When the noise died down and the ground cease shaking, guns came up and stark pale eyes searched the strangely light forest.

Teyla snagged Beckett off his feet, keeping her hand on the back of his head, holding him still as she peered through the curtain of rain into the woods.

Sheppard had his P-90 leveled, elbows sunk in mud and searching the surrounding black forest through the showering rain, for the source of the explosion. Chunks of mud on his cheeks and nose only minutely obstructed his view.

Rodney, with his arms curled his over his head remained, twisted slightly away from the diminishing bone-rattling noise.

Off in the distance, the splintering of trees and snapping of wood filled the forest.

For a brief moment the area was as light as day.

Rain pelted coats and soaked shoulders and saturated pant legs to bent knees. Hair was matted to heads and exposed skin was soaked and chilled.

Ronon had his gun out and lip curled, almost daring whatever exploded to broach closer to his team.

Teyla kept Beckett, who made it to his elbows and fussed at the mud caking his fingers, tucked in close to her side and slightly behind her as she faced the darkness off to their left.

"What the Hell?" Sheppard slowly straightened up, holding his P-90 ready.

"Holy shi…" Rodney whispered as he looked up and pointed into the night sky.

They followed his gaze and watched as a large crackling ball of lightning streak overhead, leaving a trail of sparkling light in its path.

It bowled into the forest somewhere to their left. The ground shook as the sound of snapping timber and exploding trees filled the area.

"What the Hell was that?" Sheppard shouted slightly indignant and more than a little frustrated. _They were making good time. What was wrong with just getting to the gate without any difficulties? Why couldn't anything be easy? What was it with his team?_

"Here comes another one," Ronon stated. The others ducked down as another ball of electricity hurled from the night sky. It skimmed low across the treetops, sparking fires, before plowing its way into the forest and erupting into flames.

Fire flickered at the tops of trees like candles on a macabre birthday cake.

The night forest became unnaturally light before dimming slightly, not truly extinguishing. Flames stretched up from the forest to the left, straining against the falling rain. After a few moments the fire took hold.

"There are more," Teyla shouted and soon volleys of ball lightning raced across the sky angling toward the surrounding hills.

"McKay?" Sheppard hollered.

"What!" Rodney shouted back in exasperation. "Oh what? I was supposed to see this coming!"

Another ball of lightning struck somewhere just out of sight. An explosion rocked the ground. People reached out with hands to capture their balance.

Beckett wrestled free of Teyla's hold and sat up, sitting on his good leg staring up at the night sky in awe. He squinted his eyes, raising a protective hand to shield them from the glare of electricity. The bright light seemed to pierce directly into his brain. _But the colors were so glittery and unusual. _

Fire roared just out of sight as waves of heat buffeted the trail all around them. A halo of light arced into the sky.

"We've got to get out of here!" Sheppard stated.

"Oh, brilliant observation!" McKay retorted, peeking out from under his arm. "You think of that all by yourself!"

The soft smell of smoke filtered through. With a shift of wind, smoke permeated the region. Soon eyes watered as fine ash and other particulate matter assaulted them. Fire brazenly stretched to the sky undiminished by the incessant rain. Individual small fires connected growing into a monstrous blaze.

A ball of lightning zoomed just overhead. It littered the air right above them with cascading sparks.

_Ohhh sparklers._ Carson watched captivated.

"Take cover!" Sheppard hollered and threw himself over McKay, splashing the scientist back into the mud and partially covering him with his body.

Ronon and Teyla flattened themselves to the trail and curled into balls trying to make as small as targets as possible.

Beckett remained upright mouth ajar, watching the light show over head, occasionally pointing out particularly bright flares.

"Teyla!" Sheppard shouted. The Athosian flashed a hand out and yanked Carson to ground and covered his shoulders and head with her upper body.

McKay lifted his mudcovered face from the trail, gasping for breath under Sheppard's oppressive weight. He rolled his eyes as he stared out from between the Colonel's coated armpit and thorax at Beckett. Beckett, who lay face up under Teyla's torso.

Carson got all the luck---and it was wasted on him.

The lightning struck close to the north of them, exploding trees, tossing dirt and debris into the air. Branches and full sized tree limbs rained down dangerously close to them. Bark and clods of dirt pelted rolled backs and shoulders.

Sheppard tightened, curling smaller, forcing McKay deeper into the mud.

Rodney could have sworn he saw Beckett smile when Teyla secured the CMO closer to her body.

McKay lost sight of the two when Sheppard dug in a little tighter burying the scientist into the chilled mud.

After a moment the sound of small obstacles smashing into the ground ceased.

Teyla slowly lifted her head and peered about while keeping Beckett pinned to the ground. Falling trees engulfed in flames covered the trail back to the gate. The roar of the building fire was deafening.

Careening balls of lightning whistled low overhead. Streaking the sky with streaming tails of light.

Teyla unconsciously tightened her grip on Beckett's shoulder and collarbone, keeping him pinned to the gritty soil.

The smell of mud and smoke was pervasive.

Carson began to squirm, trying to loosen her grip. Collarbones were sensitive.

"The way to the gate is blocked," she shouted.

Carson pulled on her arm trying to free himself.

She glanced down at him, "You must stay close, Carson." With that she released her grip, freeing him.

Beckett rubbed at his shoulder and rolled to his side in an attempt to sit up. Movement to his right, away from the building fire, grabbed his attention.

"Here comes the mist," Beckett mumbled from his spot on the muddied trail as he slowly sat back up. He casually pointed to their right with a dirty hand. "It's coming." _Guess it doesn't mind the rain. Figures. _

Another streaking ball of lighting seared overhead. It scorched the tops off nearby trees before plowing its way through the body of trunks and gouging a landing in the forest floor.

"What was that, Carson?" Sheppard hollered.

"The mist," Beckett repeated, continuing to point to their right. "The mist is back." _He really disliked the misty creatures. _

Sheppard followed Beckett's outstretched hand, unable to hear what the physician was mumbling.

Through the undulating blackness of night, in the wavering shadows created by the surrounding forest fire, and illuminated by falling balls of lightning, the mist crept back along the disrupted forest floor directly toward them.

_Oh shit._ "Go! Go! Go!" Sheppard scrambled to his feet, reaching for Rodney and hauling the astrophysicist up by his arm.

Together, Teyla and Ronon each latched onto one of Beckett's upper arms and hauled him to his feet.

As a group they barreled back down the path, the way they just came.

"Run!" Sheppard shouted pivoting on his foot and spraying the area behind him with P-90 fire.

The sound of gun fire was muted by the continuous whistle of streaking balls of lightning.

The roar of numerous forest fires drowned out the steady drum of falling rain.

The group tore down the path, weaving, and leaping, twisting and turning avoiding flying wooden debris, dodging great divots in the trail that had not been present moments before.

Ronon stretched his long legs, covering more ground than the rest, but his pace was marred by the uncoordinated, and choppy gait of the lagging physician. "Move! Beckett!"

"Carson, you must move faster," Teyla breathed just at his shoulder.

Carson simply ran. His heart raced, his chest burned with the sickening familiarity of only days before. The camouflage wrap around his injured lower leg, bunched and unraveled, stringing out behind him, occasionally flipping forward threatening to entangle his feet.

He kept running through the fire shadowed forest, doing his best to keep close to Ronon, but failing with each unsteady step. He didn't want to see anymore people get eaten by the fog.

"Find a tree!" Sheppard hollered from somewhere behind. The Colonel continued to shove McKay in front of him while he turned and peppered the mist that easily closed the distance. "Go up!"

An explosion to their left rocked the ground, breaking strides, forcing arms to windmill and upper bodies to twist in order to maintain balance. As a group, they continued their frantic race through the shattering forest.

Smoke clogged lungs, heat burned nostrils and threatened to sear tracheas. Eyebrows remained un-singed.

Ronon broke away from the group and headed for a tree with a swinging low branch not seven feet from the ground. "Teyla! Here!" The Satedan shouted.

The Athosian merely tugged the physician in the direction of Dex's voice.

Carson needed no special urging, and with camouflaged wrappings dragging behind him, and padded pressure bandages saturated and weighted, he sprinted awkwardly toward the runner.

Ronon stood braced just below the tree, hands cupped like a stirrup and knees bent. Beckett almost wanted to smile. It reminded him of his older cousin Brendon who used to catapult Carson and his younger cousins up onto the barn roof in the wintertime so they could jump off. It was great fun. Unless you miss-stepped or miss-timed things, and occasionally cousin Brendon heaved you up into the underside of the roof overhang. That wasn't very fun. At least not for the catapultee, but it was a source of amusement for the others waiting their turn.

Without missing a step or thinking too hard about what he was doing, Carson headed straight for Ronon. One moment he was running and the next he was in the tree scrambling for the next branch over, making room for Teyla.

Then Teyla's hands were on the branch and soon she was curling herself into the tree with him.

The pair watched with growing trepidation as McKay and Sheppard, ankle deep in mist fought for balance under the shimmering explosions that rocked the area.

Blue and red giant balls of lightning flashed across the night sky by the dozens.

A ball of lightning struck nearby, rocking the area. Debris exploded around them. Clods of dirt, wood and rocks pummeled the ground. The sharp snapping of branches cracked the evening. Teyla became unseated. Beckett lunged forward and snared Teyla by her coat, pulling her close, protecting her with his torso.

Small clods of dirt and splintered wood pelted his back and shoulders with bruising force.

When the world stop rocking and debris settled, the pair separated and looked down to discover the bottom branch was simply gone. A large crater rested where Ronon had once stood.

Forest debris lay muted under the accumulating mist. Impressions of darker silhouettes slid with in the fog.

The other three from their team were not to be seen.

Beckett sagged against the tree, keeping tight hold of Teyla's coat. The Athosian continued to stare and whispered a soft disbelieving, "No."

Carson looked out into the burning forest, the light hurting his head, the smoke burning his eyes. It brought protective tears brimming over his lower eyelids.

Another ball of lightning barreled through the forest, sparking fires before exploding into the trail just hundreds of yards away.

Beckett didn't move. He stared into the mist that circled and heaved at the base of their tree. _Not again; Not Rodney, Not the Colonel or Ronon. Not them, too_. He never registered the flying projectiles that buzzed by them.

The world seemed afire.

Teyla shoved Carson into the trunk, pinning him securely to the tree, shielding him with her body.

From under her slight bulk, he continued to stare at the mist-enshrouded ground at the base of the tree. _They were gone. Rodney, Ronon and Sheppard. Gone. _It felt as if the wind had been knocked from him. _They were gone…all gone_. He slumped against the tree, allowing Teyla to support more of his weight. It seemed as if all the pain of the last few days suddenly manifested itself and sapped him of what little strength he had left. His head hurt, his leg throbbed and every muscle and joint in his body ached.

He didn't acknowledge the sound of falling objects as they thudded to the ground all around them. He stared at the spot where Ronon once stood. Debris shattered branches within their tree, ricocheted off the trunk, and splintered bark. He didn't flinch. _Perhaps Rodney and Sheppard were spared the horrific pain that had encompassed Hopkins, Thomas's and the others' last moments. Maybe Rodney and the Colonel had been spared being eaten alive by whatever lurked within the mist. _

Out of the darkness from their right, something careened unseen at the duo huddled in the tree.

Without preamble or warning it smashed into the corner of Teyla's forehead, snapping her head back into the trunk just above Beckett's curled back. And suddenly, for Teyla, all the noise, flashes of light and shadows of fire disappeared into a vortex of nothingness.

Teyla folded into the CMO and then started to slide to the side, slipping from the branch.

It snapped Carson from his lethargy and introspection and spurred him into moving. He grabbed the Athosian, straining against her weight and gravity and stopped her downward slide. He slammed chest first into a branch and slid downward, feeling the bark scratch and catch on his shirt and skin. He slid forward, both hands clutching Teyla, while his back arched as his head and chin were extended upward and back. With hands knotted in the Athosian's coat and shirt and hooking his feet under an unseen branch, he heaved backward. With brute strength, and praying he didn't herniate anything, he slowly brought her back onto the limb. With sharp breaths and fading strength, he manipulated her frame onto the branch and fought to balance her weight. Exertional nausea bubbled. After a bit he managed to situate her back against his front, the back of her head bobbed to his shoulder and then rolled to his arm. Beckett leaned against the tree, sagging into the trunk, pulling Teyla tight against his chest and held on with all he had left.

All around them fire stretched for the sky, heat buffeted them from all sides following the swirling currents of unusual air movements. Rain evaporated before it hit the drying ground.

Beckett closed his burning eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**This is a bit later than usual. Been a bit of a trying week. **

**Part 7**

"Carson!"

"Carson!"

"Carson? Answer me you melon headed voodoo witch doctor!"

Beckett cinched his arms tighter around Teyla. He sat with his back to the tree, Teyla resting against his chest, slumped in his arms.

His butt had gone painfully numb.

"Carson!"

Beckett blinked. His eyes hurt. They felt dry and gritty. The darkness of night still wavered under the glow of fires that seemed to surround the area. Heat billowed all around. The smell of smoke permeated everything. It wisped into his lungs with every breath, coated his teeth, blanketed his tongue and left a subtle sheet of residue all over him. He could feel the fine particulate matter of the ash settle over him like a shroud.

He adjusted his grip on Teyla, holding her fast. She had muttered and moved and on occasion, battled him. He would have a deep bruise where the back of her head had connected with his shoulder. He couldn't imagine either one of them walking away from that blow unbruised.

Teyla drifted in and out. When conscious, he spoke with her, assuring her that things would be okay, rescue would come, they would make the gate. There was nothing to worry about. Soft platitudes rolled from his tongue with practiced ease and no guilt.

Guilt didn't enshroud the lies he muttered while they sat in a tree, engulfed in smoke and surrounded by raging fire. He felt no guilt about that at all. In fact, it eased his conscience just a tad to know that he could provide some comfort, perhaps some sense of safety to someone who normally worked to protect him and others from physical harm.

They were far from safe, yet death didn't sit on the branch beside them either.

The mist had dissipated some time ago, but when exactly Beckett couldn't be sure. He scanned the ground and failed to see the bones of his friends, but then again, he really did not want to bare witness to the gnawed ends of long bones that once belonged to the others. As a result, he scanned with his blurry vision, unable to focus with much clarity.

The smoke veiled and obscured most everything around him.

After a time he leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree and closed his eyes. Everything hurt---inside and out, he hurt. The rain set a deep chill into his bones as steam spiraled from his clothing as the heat of the unseen fire raged.

Occasionally he would feel Teyla move about in his grasp and he would tighten his hold, and speak to her. She had yet to answer in any manner that would indicate her wits were about her. So instead of pushing, instead of rushing their present reality upon her, he'd whisper that things were going to be okay, not to worry.

He was doing enough worrying for both of them.

However, the fire was closing in around them. It was getting more and more difficult to breathe. The heavy rains slowed down the fire's progress. The hail of electricity had moved on beyond their position. The distance sounds of explosion ceased to frighten him. He sat in their tree and watched the rolling bundles of electricity hurl toward the ground and ignite fires in the forest far off to what he would have called the North, had he been on Earth.

He wasn't on Earth. He wasn't anywhere near his home.

"Carson! Gawd Damn it! Answer me!"

"Bugger off, Rodney," Beckett muttered. He adjusted his grip on Teyla, trying to relieve the pressure on his left arm. The human head was heavy.

He closed his watering eyes.

"Carson! You cannot be this dense!" there was a pause, "I'm surrounded by morons. Morons! At first, Sheppard and Ronon and now you!" McKay flapped his arms about, spraying water from his fingertips.

He scowled up at the tree.

"Why Sheppard insists that you go off world is beyond me. You know that? Why? Why does he make you go off world? You're a menace! You should come with a warning label slapped to your forehead! A menace!"

"Rodney, go haunt someone else," Beckett mumbled.

"I'm not dead, you rattle shaking imbecile!"

Carson smiled. Rodney really didn't have much of a kind way with words. He was a bit blunt and often lacked tact, but he certainly didn't waste words when making a point.

_Insufferable man, really. Impossible. _

"Then where are you?" Beckett asked.

"I'm right below you." Rodney spoke a bit softer but with just as much impatience.

Carson craned his head around Teyla's sagging shoulder and stared down at the ground. Sure enough, there through the smoke stood Rodney McKay.

"Could you blink your way up here, Rodney? My neck is a bit sore."

"No, I can't blink my way up there! Do I look like some sort of 1960's housewife witch with good intentions?"

Beckett chuckled. "You'd make an awful ugly and disappointing wife, Rodney."

"I would not…Wait…Just shut up, Carson, and listen. I have no idea what's wrong with that brain of yours, but we've got to get the others and get out of here."

"The others are gone, Rodney, with you. It's just Teyla and me."

McKay threw his arms up in the air and turned in a circle muttering his frustration clearly audible even over the roar of the encroaching fire.

"No, Carson, we aren't gone. Sheppard and Ronon are in the next tree over." Rodney paused, "Well actually they are below the next tree over, they, um, fell out of the tree…but we really don't need to get into how they fell out of the tree right now." McKay sputtered. "We need to get you and Teyla out of that tree and get back to the gate."

"There's a fire."

"Brilliant observation, Carson. Yes, there is a fire, and if you don't get your confused ass in gear, you and Teyla are going to be charcoal briquettes."

"Teyla's hurt."

"Carson, we're all hurt," McKay pointed out.

"I'm going to need some help."

"Well, you're out of luck. Now get moving." McKay watched with some irritation as Beckett gently started trying to wake the Athosian. "Could you hurry it up a bit…we're on a time schedule."

Carson ignored Rodney and continued trying to roust Teyla. After a bit of cajoling, he managed to get the Athosian leaning forward and sitting up.

Teyla brushed at something rounded and solid, resting just at the bottom of her lower back, pressing somewhat uncomfortably at the crease of her butt. She cocked her head to the side and tried to peer at the Doctor behind her. Her head wasn't ready for it. "Dr. Beckett?"

"Aye, lass?"

Teyla merely dipped her chin, unsure on how to proceed. "Never mind."

"Aye," Beckett responded hesitantly. He'd make sure Biro ran some scans if and when they made it back to Atlantis.

"Are you two coming or not?" Rodney's impatient yell had them moving.

Teyla raised an eyebrow and twisted her position. She stared at Carson. "Let me help you, lass."

Teyla smiled hesitantly and scooted away from Beckett and the prominence that pressed against her lower, lower back.

Her hand brushed it and she quickly pulled it back muttering an apology.

"Teyla, lass?" Carson asked hesitantly. His silent diagnosis of mild concussion slowly crept toward moderate. "Are you okay to move?"

"Yes, yes, quite," The Athosian muttered and shifted further along the branch again brushing up against the prominence. It was firm and unyielding.

"Be careful of the broken branch nubbin', it may snag you," Beckett offered when Teyla's hand nudged the blunted protruding nub of a branch remnant.

Their route out of the tree was more closely associated with multiple small control falls than actually climbing. In the end, after bouncing off the last remaining branch, both Teyla and Carson fell to the drying mud at the base of the tree.

Rodney helped Teyla to her feet, leaning the Athosian against the tree while he waited for Beckett to struggle to stand, favoring his injured leg even more than before.

"You can walk on that, correct?"

"What?"

"Your foot, you can walk on it, right?"

"My right foot?"

"Oh just shut up and come on and help me with the Colonel and Ronon."

Beckett limped after Rodney, guiding Teyla by the arm. "Are they injured?"

"No, Carson, they're not. I just want you to help them because I don't think you'll have enough trouble on your own."

"Rodney," Teyla warned. She was dizzy, her head hurt and her stomach rolled threateningly, she did not wish to play the role of diplomat between the two.

Beckett rubbed tiredly at his head and looked around at the building smoke.

McKay led them through the haze to the next tree over. Teyla followed at a sedate pace, her footfalls becoming more and more secure with each step. Rodney paused when he noticed Carson standing still and rubbing at his eyes, not following.

"What, Carson, what now?" McKay impathiently asked. He was tired and afraid. The ones that were supposed to do the physical rescuing were in need of rescuing. He wasn't built for this type of thing, it wasn't what he did. Sure he could adapt, and nothing was truly outside his range of ability, but this really, really wasn't the type of thing he wanted to do. He used his brain, not his back. And now through a curtain of building smoke, Carson was staring at him as if he had never seen him before. "Carson?"

"I thought you were dead. The mist was around your legs. You and the Colonel weren't going to make the tree."

"Of course we weren't, but your tree isn't the only one in the forest…It's a _forest_, Carson. More than one tree. Get it?"

"But Ronon…."

"Ronon's with us." _The altruistic idiot._ Rodney would never truly understand what made people turn their back on safety to rush headlong into danger. It made little sense. Ronon could have been up in the tree, safe from the mist, but instead runs straight into it. Not that Rodney wasn't thankful. Ronon, did after all, save him from a painful, unpleasant death. But still, self-preservation should mean a little more to people.

McKay found it all unnerving, and what frightened him more was that he found himself at times acting in a similar fashion. It went against every fabric of logic he had.

Frightening.

McKay scrutinized his friend. Carson, standing encircled by smoke from a building forest fire was unusual. Beckett asking foolish questions, while unnerving in this situation, was not unheard of, but still unsettling.

McKay found it all very frustrating. He strode toward Beckett, fighting his own fear, wrestling his own lack of control in this impossible situation and not wanting the responsibility of directly having to protect the lives of others. Others were suppose to protect him from physical harm while he used his own massive intellect to save the day with last minute scenarios that promised imminent doom. Not this. Not forest fires, man eating fog and shooting balls of lightning. He didn't do natural disasters. How was he supposed to protect others from mother nature with just a life sign detector, a tablet running low on battery juice and a .9mm.

He couldn't work like this. This was unacceptable.

"Can we get moving now?---Fire…all around us…That's bad Carson, fire in a forest is bad…especially when you're standing in that forest." McKay narrowed his gaze and stared at the frightfully strange dilated pupils. He didn't want Carson dependent on him for survival, not here, not without backup from Sheppard, Ronon or Teyla, not on a strange world away from Atlantis.

Though, Beckett didn't have near the intelligence that McKay commanded, Carson was at least intelligent enough to bounce ideas off, he was useful, resourceful and occasionally had moments of brilliance. To have the Scot standing before him, heedless or oblivious to the hissing rain, doubting what he saw, questioning what was occurring around him and not reacting in a manner in accordance with their survival, unnerved Rodney.

It more than unnerved him, it panicked him. "You do understand that, don't you? That one little brain cell in that hollow skull of yours, does grasp that little tidbit of information, correct? You following, Carson?"

"Aye, Rodney, you're an ass."

_Finally._ McKay swallowed his smile at the retort. "Yes, a living ass, and I'd like to keep it that way, get moving." Rodney gently shoved Beckett in the direction of the tree where Sheppard and Ronon lay piled in a heap.

————————————————————————————

Sheppard rubbed at his eyes and rolled over onto his stomach. His back hurt. He groaned. The heavy smell of smoke pervaded so intensely that he could almost taste it. He lay still for a moment, letting the blanketing pain travel and funnel across and settle about his shoulders.

Something tugged at his arms, lifting his shoulders well before he was ready to move. Pain lanced down either side of his spine. He tried pulling his arms free but muscles remained heavy and uncooperative.

"Knock it off, Colonel." _Rodney._ Rodney sounded scared. That was never good. Not when the smell of smoke was so thick. Sheppard blinked his eyes open and quickly closed them. The bite of smoke stung.

"Oh no you don't," _Rodney again_. This time he yanked on Sheppard's arm hard enough to elicit a yelp when his shoulder cracked and popped.

"Rodney, be careful." Sheppard smiled at the sound of Beckett's voice. Carson occasionally was the voice of reason. "He might be broke."

"Oh." McKay sounded properly chastised.

"Are you positive ya real, Rodney? Because, I really don't want to go through all of this if ya just a figment of my imagination." Sheppard furrowed his brow. _Okay so Carson wasn't the voice of reason. _

"I believe, Dr. Beckett, that we have established that this is very real." _Teyla. Thankgod for Teyla. _"Colonel Sheppard, you must help us. We cannot move you and Ronon alone."

Sheppard wiped at his eyes with a heavy hand and slowly pushed himself up to his knees. Vertigo assaulted him, nearly sending him back to his face. A strong grip on his upper arm steadied him.

"Colonel, we need to move." The insistency in McKay's voice and the strength in his grip conveyed an urgency that Sheppard couldn't write off as pure McKay drama.

The sound of crackling seemed to surround him. _A fire?_ They were in a forest. A forest fire. _Shit._

Something poked him in the shoulder, as if cautiously checking if a something was alive.

"Hey, knock it off." Sheppard swatted at the hand blindly. The smoke made his eyes run.

"Are you real, Colonel?" Beckett's voice was soft, unsure and a little bit hesitant as if asking the question might get him in some trouble.

"Carson!" Rodney's impatient voice had Sheppard smiling. It was good to see someone else irritate McKay.

"Just making sure," Beckett muttered with a hint of a chastised defensiveness.

"It's alright, Doc." Sheppard soothed with the hope of easing Beckett's fears and irritating McKay just a little more.

He seemed to have succeeded on both fronts.

"Colonel, help me with Ronon," McKay ordered.

Sheppard tipped over to his hands and knees and crawled his way over to the astrophysicist and runner. Pine needles dug into his palms as mud squished under his weight. "What've we got, Rodney?"

"Oh, not much---killer fog, surrounded by a forest fire, balls of lightning bombing us, a red moon."

"Told you it was bad," Beckett pointed out, standing in the flickering glow of an encroaching fire.

"No. No. No, you didn't," Rodney snapped, pulling on Ronon's arm. "You so obviously pointed out that is was red and, oh so helpfully, called it creepy."

"I don't need help," Ronon stated with clear impatience and worked his arm free.

"Fine." McKay leaned back washing his hands of helping others. It was nothing but grief.

Dex rolled onto his stomach and paused before considering pushing himself to his hands and knees.

"I said we should get back in the tree." Beckett rubbed at the side of his head. He wasn't feeling so good. "No one listened."

"It happens sometimes, Doc," Sheppard offered from his place beside Dex.

McKay tossed his hands into the air. _Why wasn't anyone moving toward the gate?_ "We need to move, people," Rodney stated yet again. He was not surrounded by mental giants.

He wiped his eyes on the point of his shoulder smudging the soot and debris. "Or haven't you noticed the increase in heat?"

It was uncomfortably hot. Sweat evaporated before it had a chance to saturate clothing.

"At least it's a dry heat," Sheppard pointed out with a bit of a grin.

"Ha, ha," McKay snapped. "Real funny, but let's see who's laughing after we try and get this behemoth on his feet and Mister Scatter Brains over there to the gate."

Sheppard turned and watched Beckett. The doctor sat heavily in the mud trying to rewrap the unraveled bandages that hung limply from his lower leg. It seemed to confound him. Thankfully, Teyla had enough wits about her to help him solve the puzzle.

She deftly re-wrapped the mud-saturated dressings around the quilted pressure bandages and tied them tightly. It wasn't pretty, but it was functional.

"Ronon?" The colonel nudged the big man's shoulder. The former runner had not moved since rolling onto his stomach.

"I'm moving."

"Move faster," Sheppard ordered. The Colonel reached down and helped guide the Satedan to his feet. Dex stood for a moment weaving in small circles. Mud and soot caked his features and clothing. His hair seemed more gnarled.

"You ready?" Sheppard grimaced, watching Ronon try and clear his head.

"Always."

"Yeah, right," McKay muttered.

"Rodney, go help Teyla and Carson. I've got Ronon," Sheppard ordered.

"I do not need help," Dex stated. He teetered off to the right, heading away from the gate.

"This way," Sheppard said. The Colonel weaved and staggered back down the trail heading toward the gate.

"What about the fire?" Sheppard heard Carson ask from behind. The colonel peered over his shoulder and watched through the falling rain and curtain of smoke as the others fell into line. Rodney stuck close to Ronon. They made an odd pair and an even stranger friendship. Teyla gently nudged Carson along, occasionally pulling on his jacket sleeve to keep him on the trail and heading in the correct direction. The bandage had slid and bunched in a soggy mess around his ankle. The deep furrows that carved his lower leg were masked by a layer of mud.

"We will go around it," Teyla re-assured. Sheppard hoped it was that easy. He slowed his pace allowing them to catch up.

"The mist?" Carson asked. He toddled off to the left. Teyla reached out and corrected his direction.

"Does not like the incessant rain," Teyla answered with such assurance that Sheppard almost found himself believing it.

"I bloody well hope it rains all night then."

"As do I." The Athosian rubbed tiredly at her head, fingering the large knot that formed at the corner of her forehead. Wind lifted and twirled loose strands of sweat dampened hair. A fine sheen of sweat never had a chance to glisten her fine skin.

Sheppard scrutinized the group as they collected behind him. They were in rough shape. Ronon listed to the side, wrapping a protective arm tight to his chest. McKay's shoulders seemed to be rolled more than usual as if the weight of the rain was just a tad too much. Beckett constantly shifted in place as his left leg became more and more fatigued having to support the bulk of his weight. He blinked slowly as if trying to fight to stay awake. Teyla kept close holding fast to his elbow, but listing in her own right. The Athosian's eye was swollen closed and blood caked the side of her face.

Sheppard himself wasn't feeling in tiptop shape either. The heated wind offered little comfort. He felt his thirst grow from a niggling thought to building need.

It would be a miracle if they reached the gate at all.

"All right, let's blow this popsicle stand and head home." Sheppard headed down the trail.

"I like popsicles. Orange ones." Beckett rubbed at his forehead. The dizziness was getting worse. Thoughts seemed to float away before completely solidifying. His face and hands felt tingly.

"Orange?" McKay muttered, "Blue, Carson, blue is the best flavor."

"Red is," Sheppard opinioned.

"Predictable," McKay mumbled. The colonel smiled to himself as he lead them down the twisting dirt path, between smoke enshrouded trees and the undulating glow of a forest fire that was too distant to see but close enough to heat skin and steam damp clothing.

"What is a popsicle?" Ronon asked as he staggered left and right, but managed to keep to the trail, bringing up the rear.

"It's like a fudgsicle but different," Carson answered. He wanted a popsicle. His throat was dry, and his face and hands prickled as if hot pins and needles crackled across them. His toes too, they felt no different than wooden blocks. He peered down at the mud encrusted toes of his right foot and staggered into Teyla. She side passed off the trail for a bit before righting them both. She stumbled through the sparse undergrowth, large fern branches slapping at her legs. Her grip on Beckett's elbow never lessened.

"And that was ohhh so helpful, Carson," McKay snapped. He lifted his eyes from the life signs detector that he grasped with a sooty and dirt smudged hand. He reached out with his free hand and hauled Beckett back onto the trail with Teyla stumbling a step behind.

Sheppard turned slightly and watched the trio. Ronon caught his eye. The big Satedan cocked his head to the side and slowly shook it. _Fudgsicle explanation was no help and their situation wasn't improving._ Beckett was getting worse and Teyla was not doing much better.

The colonel grimaced and turned forward. There was nothing they could do for now, but push for the gate.

The small group snaked its way through pervading smoke, billowing heat, and strangely swirling winds, trudging doggedly through the shimmering forest toward the gate.

The distant sounds of explosions hallmarked the random strikes of alien ball lightning. The hissing of evaporating rain surrounded them.

McKay dropped his gaze to the Life Signs Detector. He snapped his head back up and frantically searched the surrounding smoke shadowed trees.

"Oh no," he whispered.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Part 8 (of 10 ) **

"Oh no what, Rodney?" Sheppard asked with tired resignation. That tone, the; _we're all going to die a horrible, painful death_, never really bode well for them. Rodney was not the master of understatement, even on a good day, but the man did have a firm grasp of facts and the realities that said facts were capable of bringing about. And though Rodney had a tendency to panic, think in a painfully, pessimistic manner, was often, more times than not, accurate if not a little over the top. But Rodney never did anything by halves.

"It's coming," McKay stated again, slowing his steps and turning left and right, arcing the life signs detector in his hand.

"What is coming, Dr. McKay?" Teyla asked warily. She held a hand to her forehead and relinquished her grip on Beckett. The doctor was becoming more and more unsteady and directing his movements was leeching her own waning strength.

"Christmas," Rodney snapped.

"McKay," Ronon warned with a hint of impatience.

"The Mist!" Rodney answered. "What else would be coming at us?"

"Lightning," Dex answered.

"Oh right," McKay muttered and then looked up, more than slightly annoyed. "Not on a life signs detector."

"The mist is close?" Teyla inquired.

McKay stared at the instrument for a bit and nodded, biting on his lower lip. "Yeah. It's closer."

"Shit," Sheppard muttered.

"We are not far from the gate," Ronon stated. He was tired of sitting in trees. He gave the astrophysicist a hard glare, and he was tired of falling out of trees.

Without a word, Beckett teetered off the path, heavily favoring his injured leg, and headed toward the nearest tree.

"Can we make the gate?" Sheppard watched, somewhat dishearten, as Beckett tried to jump up and grab at a branch that was well beyond his grasp. His feet barely left the ground. After the second try, his left leg gave and he crumbled to the forest floor. The colonel had to give the CMO credit, he wasn't giving up. Carson single-mindedly pushed himself back to his feet and tried jumping for the branch again.

Sheppard, McKay and the others watched the futile efforts for just a moment. The only way Beckett was going to reach the branch was with a ladder or an elevator.

"If we hurry, we might be able to." Rodney watched as Beckett toppled to the side again, disappearing behind large ferns and swirling smoke. He stayed down a little longer, partially camouflaged behind the ferns.

"Ronon." Sheppard cocked his head in the direction of Carson. Beckett slowly pushed himself to his feet and leaned heavily against the tree. Once more, he stretched leaden arms up and tried to reach the lower branch. There was a hint of desperation in his movements.

Sheppard watched as Dex grabbed Beckett by the upper arm and drag the Scot away from the tree. Carson fought him. At first he only tried to lift and twist his upper arm free of the firm grasp that snared him. When that failed, his balking motions became more panicked, more frenzied.

Ronon, however, was undeterred and simply dragged Beckett back to the trail. Carson continued to struggle and look over his shoulder at the tree closest to the trail.

"No…no…no," Carson muttered in panic.

"Carson, Rodney says we can make the gate." Sheppard tried to get Beckett's attention to no avail.

"No. No, we can't," Beckett mumbled still trying to drag himself free of Ronon. _Thomas never made it into the tree. Hopkins never broke free of the mist. They never made the gate._

"We don't have time for this, Carson," Rodney snapped. He turned his attention to Sheppard. "If we're going to make the gate, we've got to move now."

"Ronon?"

"I've got him." Ronon tightened his grip on Beckett's arm. "Let's go."

Sheppard nodded once. He turned and started down the path, but paused when Ronon and Beckett had yet to follow. The Colonel turned just in time to see Beckett attempt to lunge away from Dex and into the forest. The effort, though monumental, gained him little freedom.

Ronon grabbed Beckett's jaw and turned the doctor's face so they were staring at one another. He could feel the radiating heat and wondered how much of it was due to the surrounding fire and how much to the fever. The glazed, dilated eyes that stared back at him attested to a raging fever. Had they been back on Atlantis, Beckett would not have been on his feet, but sequestered away in his infirmary or quarters. It was amazing what the body could and would do in order to survive. "I will not let it get you."

"No." Beckett whispered and shook his head adamantly. Vertigo swamped him. He lost his balance and spiraled to the drying mud with his arm held aloft in Ronon's hand. He didn't want the mist to get him either, but more importantly he didn't want to lose any more friends to a grizzly death trying to protect him. He didn't want to survive, living on the sacrifices of others. No more.

"Ronon, we must go," Teyla shouted through the smoke. The Satedan hauled the Scot to his feet and led him by the arm through the building smoke and wall of heat toward the others.

Sheppard and McKay waited.

The astrophysicist's gaze darted between the life signs detector and Ronon.

The former runner, over time, had learned to read the many levels of anxiety in McKay and knew that they were in grave danger.

They needed to move and move quickly.

Dex tightened his grip on Beckett's arm and pulled him along, strong enough to instill cooperation, but slow enough to keep the doctor on his feet and moving forward.

Beckett fought to keep up, struggled to keep pace, to prevent Ronon from falling to the same fate as Thomas.

The mud soaked bandage began to slide and bag at his ankle, unwrapping in a long soggy ribbon.

Sheppard led them off at a slow jog that slowly morphed into a brisk trot.

————————————————————————————

"We're not going to make it!" Rodney yelled. The roar of the encroaching forest fire was deafening. Air currents swirled and funneled around them, rushing past in multiple directions, buffeting the team from all angles. Forest debris rose and danced, scattering and jerking about on fierce haphazard air streams.

All around them trees cracked and snapped. Branches just out of sight gave way and crashed to the ground. The land vibrated with each impact. Parts of fiery forest rained down all around.

Flames stretched for the night sky behind a thin row of trees.

The group broke from the forest at the top of the small incline that led to the small short grassed meadow that held the gate.

Brown and grey smoke settled thickly over the clearing. Trees all around it seemed ablaze with consuming flames.

The smudged silhouette of the gate pulsed in and out of view through the heavy curtain of smoke. It sat alone on its slightly raised dais with its small DHD and wall just yards from it.

Flames arced from the forest that surrounded the meadow. Building tongues of fire stretched for the night sky, consuming trees in its building strength. Macabre shadows danced and swelled, battling the wavering light. Smoke cascaded down from the shimmering pines. It poured into the clearing from the forest floor.

McKay stood beside Sheppard, heaving for breath, his chest aching for the simple chance to breathe fresh air. He swung the life signs detector left and right. The lines of his fingernails were visible, outlined by the building soot. He wiped the screen of the detector on his pant's leg to clear the building ash. "There, coming in from the right." Rodney pointed unnecessarily.

They couldn't make out the mist, not from this distance and not with so much smoke boiling from the forest and coating the meadow.

They'd have to trust McKay and his readings. Sheppard never gave it a second thought.

"Alright let's go!" The Colonel waved the others by him.

The meandering dirt path snaked a shallow impression through the short meadow grass straight for the gate. The way appeared cleared.

A tease, really.

The stargate, with its innocuous small accessories, the DHD and wall, made for a surreal cluster of humanity and civilization. Appearances were deceiving.

It sat within the undulating shadows of unsteady firelight, as if patiently waiting for a chance to do its work.

"Keep moving!" Sheppard shouted. He veered to their right flank raising his P-90.

To their right, leeching from the forest, seeped the mist. The fog rolled forth from the depths of the forest under the cover of smoke. The pale mist mingling freely with the heavy brown of burning wood and grass.

"Dial the gate!" Sheppard ordered.

McKay wanted to roll of his eyes…Of course he'd dial the gate….what did Sheppard think he'd do---twiddle his thumbs? Play Ants in the Pants? Tiddly Winks? The man gave redundant orders as if they were sparks of pure brilliance.

"Get everyone through the gate!" Sheppard ordered, casting a sharp glance over his shoulder at the retreating scientist. "Don't wait for me, McKay!"

Rodney paused. The 'Like Hell' died on his lips. He wouldn't waste his time arguing, but Sheppard had to know better. Give him more credit.

Teyla peeled off from the group and shadowed Sheppard, easily drawing abreast with him. She moved seamlessly. McKay couldn't help marvel at the elegance of her motions. The Athosian was effortless in her everyday life, her fighting and in facing death. He appreciated her simple beauty and once again, thanked his lucky stars she was not blonde.

"Hurry, McKay," Ronon heaved for breath as he jogged by the astrophysicist, practically dragging Beckett. The physician stumbled on rubbery legs, dragging his feet more often than taking full steps. He listed to his left while Dex kept him upright on his right. Carson's head bobbed to his chest and left shoulder like a broken bobble head. The bandage clung to his foot by a few tenacious wraps while the rest dragged behind through the mud.

Rodney sprinted passed Ronon and Beckett and headed straight for the DHD.

The heat of the fire blasted the small clearing as if furnace doors had been left open. The smoke stung McKay's eyes forcing unwanted tears to stream down his dirty face.

The staccato sound of P-90 fire pierced the heavy tones of burning forest. McKay cast a quick glance to his right and watched as Sheppard and Teyla sprayed the now visible mist with gunfire.

The two ran in step, grape-vining in deadly synchrony.

In the grey shadows of the burning forest, under the sudden bursts of light created by dazzling flames as trees exploded when sap became superheated, the two mirrored each other like dancers. One slightly taller with a slighter bigger build, but Teyla was no less imposing in her steady sure steps and movements.

Rodney watched them as he ran, himself all arms and legs, in his own awkward bid for freedom, but he couldn't help but marvel at the lethal grace exhibited by the two.

For a brief spark of time, Rodney held out hope. They might make it after all. _His team was a well-oiled machine. Flawless in their actions and motions. Definitely the best off world team on Atlantis. Seamless. They were a thing of beauty! Oh yeah, McKay, wouldn't let himself be a part of anything less. _

He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. His eyes widened slightly in alarm at the mangled, awkward, ungainly gait maintained by Ronon and marred by Beckett's failing form.

The glimmer of hope fizzled and died.

"Hurry up!" he shouted just as more P-90 fire punctured the wall of noise cast by the fire. He was beginning to attain a little insight into the Colonel's use of simple obvious orders.

McKay dug in a little more and stretched his legs, his burning eyes focusing solely on the lone DHD nestled in front of the wall.

His boots sank in the rain softened soil. Steam wafted up from the drying ground. The smoke laden air fairly sparked with dry heated intensity.

The grass at the edges of the forest crawled with flames.

The thickening smoke engulfed Teyla and Sheppard making them nothing more than mere ghosts, apparitions. The continued burst of alternating P-90 fire kept them very much real.

Rodney bolted for the DHD and slid on the thin surface layer of drying mud. He skidded to a stop behind the dialing device, grabbing for its edges to keep his balance. Without much thought, he began pounding symbols with mud encrusted fingertips.

The familiar blue glow of light was muted behind swirling smoke as the gate whirled on its axis, circling its circumference, locking in coordinates.

Ronon staggered pass the DHD, dragging Beckett up under his one arm. McKay hit the last symbol.

The wormhole shot from the ring with a rush of clear white water punching for an escape before setting back within its boundaries.

————————————————————————————

"Dr. Weir!" The Canadian manning the control console called over the dim voices of medical personnel that had been requested only an hour ago on stand-by and extra gate security that had been put in place after last contact with Colonel Sheppard. "We're receiving Dr. McKay's IDC."

"Lower the iris," Weir stood leaning stiff armed on the railing of the gate room balcony. She surveyed the people gathered below. The tan and yellow canvas coats of the medical personnel stood quietly behind the raised guns of the waiting marines. Colonel Caldwell, recently arrived with the Daedalus, stood confidently amongst them, P-90 held ready.

————————————————————————————

Ronon hauled Beckett up the dais and simply shoved the doctor into the rippling surface. Dex never broke stride and leaped off the flattened stones. He kept on running, picking up speed and agility now that he was no longer encumbered. He headed away from the gate, into the building smoke and toward the mist.

————————————————————————————

Beckett tumbled through the gate and into the control room with the same force that Ronon had shoved him. The doctor rolled sideways, splattering mud and dirty water into the air and leaving muddy body marks in his wake on the polished floor. The bandage flung through the air hanging tenaciously to his foot, flapping like a broken sodden sail still tethered to the boom. Using his momentum, Carson attempted to scramble to his feet, succeeding in only a precarious three point stance. He slipped, slid and redirected his ungainly fall with little control toward the line of marines.

His blind scramble had him smashing into Caldwell's shins.

Beckett continued clawing for purchase, grabbing anything he could for leverage. His feet slipped and skidded, caked with slick mud, on the smooth ancient flooring.

Weir watched with some trepidation as Caldwell and one of the young marines beside him, Ketchins from Luxemburg, tried to assure and aid the fumbling doctor.

Weir winced when a solid, mud covered hand connected solidly with Stephen Caldwell's face and shoved it to the left while an equally mud covered leg flashed out and swept the Colonel's leg out from underneath him. Unbalanced, the Colonel toppled to the floor partially on top of Beckett, pinning the doctor and effectively knocking the wind from him.

The erratic scrambling paused as Beckett gaped like a landed fish under Caldwell.

Weir had to admit that Teyla's steadfast patience and quiet yet persistent training was paying off, even with her most recalcitrant students. Carson just had to work on his execution a little. Landing one's assailant on top of your midsection appeared counter productive.

The reprieve ended when Beckett hauled in his first clean breath in hours.

Colonel Caldwell and Private Ketchins found themselves in a mudslinging battle of a nature they had not anticipated.

————————————————————————————

McKay watched somewhat shocked yet not surprised when Ronon kept running right on past the event horizon.

"Wait! What! What are you doing! Are you crazy! Ronon!" McKay shouted after the former runner. Ronon never looked back. McKay tossed his arms in the air in an act of extreme frustration. "Why would anyone listen now?"

Through the smoke, and painfully dry eyes, McKay watched as Ronon charged directly into the fray. _Oh big surprise there._

Teyla and Sheppard had stopped their sideways running. The bark of P-90 fire became more insistent, a touch more panicked.

McKay didn't like the change in tempo. It never boded well---for anyone.

Through the thickening smoke and lifting steam, McKay thought he saw Sheppard slip and go down.

From his distance and position, he couldn't determine how far the mist was from the others and rapidly approaching Dex.

The scream, however, gave him some idea. He had never heard that scream from Sheppard before, except maybe once…and Kolya and a Wraith had been involved. It was not a sound he ever wanted to revisit again.

Another violent scream shocked the night, followed by the desperate bite of P-90 fire.

McKay found himself running toward his teammates before he even understood what he was doing. Before he could put thought to his actions, he was beside Teyla, trying to help the Athosian lift Sheppard to his feet. The Colonel was reduced to biting his lip and groaning as he twisted himself away from the pain. His fist was gnarled in Teyla's coated shoulder as she tried to drag him from the leading edge of the mist.

Rodney kept his eyes away from Sheppard's bloody bared foot, and the mangled sock that hung wrinkled from his toes. _What was it with these creatures and feet? Apparently ten little piggies going or not going to market took on a whole new meaning here. _

McKay tore Sheppard's P-90 from his reflexive grip and, by simple rote muscle memory, unclipped it from the Colonel's vest.

"Get to the gate!" McKay shouted as he turned and fired at the mist, standing shoulder to shoulder with Ronon. _Another obvious set of orders that didn't need articulating._ The colonel was really a bad influence on McKay's thought processes.

Teyla simply backpeddled, supporting Sheppard from under his arms and ran the best she could backward, toward the dais.

The mist followed like a relentless tide.

McKay and Ronon back-stepped in time with one another, firing at the mist and the hint of figures that rolled and bulged within its grip.

The two slowly backed away, alternating shots, buying Teyla time as she hauled the bare footed Colonel toward the gate.

"We're not going to make it," Rodney stated with all the clarity and assurance that the facts allowed. He stepped over Sheppard's discarded bloody sock. _Were these damn MPTs resistant to P-90s? _

"Yes, we are," Ronon snarled back.

"No, we aren't," Rodney snapped. Why did people try and contradict him? He was a genius after all, unsurpassed in two galaxies. They were going to be reduced to javelina feed in just a matter of moments.

He felt a little like bacon on the hoof.

"Yes, we are," Ronon stated slowly and fiercely as if speaking to a truculent child.

Tendrils of mist encircled their feet.

"We're so screwed," Rodney whimpered.

"Shut up, McKay." Something banged into Ronon's lower shin. A sharp pain radiated up his leg. He aimed straight down and fired, easily missing his own foot. The weight and puncturing pain dissipated almost immediately. A dull ache resided.

The mist rolled upward as if heaving in strength and raising its hackles.

"So screwed," Rodney whispered again. Mist wrapped around his lower legs. Something brushed the back of his calf.

He kicked at it and stumbled.

Ronon snapped out a hand and steadied him. The runner looked over his shoulder and watched as Teyla dragged Sheppard backward through the gate.

"They're through…let's go!"

Ronon pivoted on the ball of one foot, turning and launching into a run before Rodney even twisted his upper body.

They only had a few short yards to cover before reaching the safety of the stargate. So close. Safety was so close---the fear and trepidation spiked with the tangibility of actually escaping.

Something checked the side of Rodney's leg. The astrophysicist faltered. He flailed his arms outward as another unseen body hit him at his knees. A small yelp was started. He finished his turn, spinning on the ball of his booted foot and stepped off to follow Ronon.

Teeth sank into the soft flesh of his knotted calf muscle and grazed his tibia. The pain registered like a jolt of electricity, eliciting a scream that echoed through the clearing.

McKay stumbled as a fierce left and right twisting motion was applied to the bite. He could feel his calf muscles tear as he fell chest first, arms flung out, toward the mist enshrouded ground and a set of small red piggish eyes flanked by tusks.

His frantic scream was cut short as he hit the ground with a resounding smack, belly first. Air rushed from his lungs.

His head smashed into the short wiry haired face of the red eyed creature.

He was going to be eaten by one of Sheppard's Malicious Peccary Tremulous creatures. What a horrible ignoble ending to a brilliant, nearly faultless career. He really did deserve better.

Now two galaxies would suffer for his loss.

It was unfair, for all involved. So many lives effected for the worse because of his untimely and unfortunate and violent demise. Atlantis would be more at risk. It was cosmically wrong. All wrong. And personally, he thought he deserved better. Much, much better.

As his jaw smashed the flat snout of the wire haired beast, he bit his tongue. His head bounced up for a bit, just clearing the mist.

Time seemed to slow.

Through the swirling smoke, he caught his last glimpse of the shimmering blue of the event horizon and felt a spark of sadness. Then his head fell back below the mist, rebounding solidly off the side of the MPT and bounced to the hard surface of an unforgiving ground.

His leg no longer hurt.

Then something tugged at his shoulder. He couldn't move to fight it. A harsh deafening roar filled his ears. The piggish red eyes that had stared at him just moments before lay near him on the ground staring off into nothing.

They didn't blink. Then again neither had Beckett when they first found him sitting in his tree, doing his best impersonation of a nut. A tree nut. So many different levels of meaning and understanding---his superior form of genius would be missed by millions…billions. _Those_ _poor souls._

Rodney felt himself moving. Being dragged. He was forced to uncooperative feet, then folded over a shoulder like a sack of misused laundry and jostled about like jello squares in a bowl.

He was a genius. Rodney rightfully deserved better. He would have complained if he could have caught his breath, but a sharp boney object dug into his solar plexus and prevented any such remonstrations. It seemed strange to see the mist from this upside down and unusual viewpoint. His view of the mist was periodically interrupted by the billowing of a brown, odiferous cloth. It was quite an affront to his delicate sense of smell. And the smoke…why so much smoke?

The mist thickened and rolled on by. Numerous pairs of red eyes blinked into view only to disappear, alternating like poorly chosen Christmas lights on a foggy night. He really didn't enjoy the blinking lights. Not at all. The pattern of the blinks was bothersome. And if different decorations blinked at different speeds---it was maddening. A commercial ploy to drive him mad.

The sea of red eyes followed, blinking in and out through the thin sheen of mist. The brown material permeating body odor was nearly as painful as the knot wedged into his upper abdomen.

Then it all shifted. He was suddenly dipped closer to the ground and brutally to the side. He heard a grunt, a muffled scream but somehow forward momentum was never lost. And then he was further from the ground, moving again, staring at blinking red eyes with vertical pupils and wondered if they tasted as good as Beckett's Bacon Bits.

Rodney closed his eyes, trapping heat and smoky debris under his lids.

His leg hurt.

With his eyes closed, he felt the familiar cooling wash of entering the event horizon.

McKay wanted to smile.

Ronon had been right, they would make the gate. Rodney certainly wasn't disappointed, but he hated being wrong as well. It was something of a quandary and left him intellectually slightly unsettled.


	9. Chapter 9

**Part 9 (one more tiny chapter to go)**

Major Lorne let his P-90 lower when Ronon stepped through the event horizon and into the gate room with McKay draped over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

The shield flashed into place and soon a small rain of explosions rebounded off the shield. The iris sparked and brightened in random spots like a child's sparkler.

It brought a feral smile to the former runner's face.

The smile unsettled the Major.

The smell of smoke hung like a pall in the gate room. The frantic activity of moments earlier had melted away when medical personnel rolled Sheppard toward the infirmary at a brisk walk. Teyla had tried staying behind waiting for Ronon and McKay but her assistance was needed in keeping the Colonel still.

"Put me down already." McKay's disgruntled voice was slightly slurred.

Lorne noticed the blood that dripped in fat lazy drops from the back of one of McKay's lower legs.

Dark stains saturated Ronon's torn trouser leg. The edges of the ripped material remained glued to rendered skin.

The major watched with a sense of awe and growing respect as Ronon walked without a hint of a limp. Specialist Dex elevated tough to a whole new level.

The runner ignored the astrophysicist's immediate demands and lumbered toward a waiting gurney, stepping over discarded medical debris and litter. "Here, you can have him." Ronon unceremoniously deposited his burden onto the stretcher and strode determinedly toward an exit.

"Mr. Dex." Biro's sharp tone had Lorne cringing. "The infirmary and the rest of your team are in the other direction." The big Satedan simply ducked his head, altered his path and headed in the general direction of Sheppard and the others.

"Oh God, Biro." McKay's distressed exclamation brought smiles to worried faces across the room. "Why must it always be you? Why not one of the others? Why you? Is it some sort of twisted cosmic fate that they always sic you on me?"

"Dr. McKay, it is always such a great displeasure to see you, too." Biro plastered a wide smile on her face and muttered curses at her boss who had already been herded and cajoled toward the infirmary. The man had blind bullheaded stubbornness down to an art form. Maintenance crews would be up cleaning up mud from here to the infirmary.

"Why is it always you?" Rodney's blatant disregard for others feelings was another bold trait she learned to endure in the many quirks that encompassed the senior staff.

"You mean when it's not Dr. Beckett?" Biro walked beside the moving gurney. She peeled the bloody torn pant leg away from the wound. It elicited a sharp hiss of discomfort from McKay.

"Sorry." The muttered perfunctory apology seemed to suffice. _Unusual._

Biro paused in her quick examination. She fitted a few square 4x4s over the wound. The fresh blood adhered them neatly to the torn meat. She noted McKay's dilating eyes.

"If you all stopped leading Carson into off world calamities, then we wouldn't have to keep meeting like this." She flashed a toothy smile.

McKay's indignant reply was paused when an image of Jaws flashed to his mind. Biro shouldn't smile, it was unsettling. "Lead him into calamity?" Rodney sputtered. "He found it all by himself." He paused and then peered worriedly at Biro, "Did you notice his eyes…tell me you noticed his eyes? He's definitely been set to dim," McKay stated worriedly.

"I did, and yours are beginning to look a lot like his." She quirked another smile, slightly softer. "How's the leg?"

"Doesn't hurt so much anymore." McKay paused at Biro's knowing nod. It troubled him. He laid back on the gurney and stared at the ceiling. The lights moved past at a steady monotonous pace. It was a bit disorienting. He felt unusually heavy, like his muscles just hung off his bones. He didn't think he could sit up unless he truly had to. "I feel kind of strange."

Biro nodded in understanding, "I bet you do."

————————————————————————————

**36 hours Later**

"Malicious Peccary Traumatizer," a voice said.

"Malicious Peccary Torturer," another offered.

"Malicious Peccary Terminator," a third chimed.

Carson furrowed his brow. _Killer bacon?_

"Malicious Peccary Tickler." the first voice repeated. _Nasty ham with hives?_

"Tickler?---That is so lame even for you, Colonel." _Rodney_. Carson identified the voice as Rodney's. The delicate mix of condemnation and superiority was a McKay specialty that could not be duplicated by many.

Beckett shifted a leg. It relieved unrealized pressure from the small of his back. His leg slid heavily against sheets and pillows. His leg was on pillows, soft pillows that ran from just above his knee to his heel and ankle. His toes felt thickened. He cautiously flexed them. A dull aching pain pulsed up the lateral side of his leg to his hip and around to his lower back. Okay, he wouldn't be wiggling his toes again any time soon.

In the background the argument or discussion continued.

"Hey, tickling is a form of torture," Sheppard defended his choice of words.

"How about Malicious Peccary Tenochtitlanian?"

Carson furrowed his brows at Ronon's suggestion. _Cruel Aztectian pigs?_

"Is Tenochtitlanian even a word?" Sheppard asked slightly indignant. It definitely shamed his choice of 'Tickler'.

"Yes," Ronon stated with defensive assurance.

"Oh, yeah, what's it mean?' Rodney asked. He rubbed irritably at his calf. It hurt more now than it had yesterday. The narcotic like effects in the saliva of the MPT bites was slowly wearing off. His focus improved, the dry mouth was slowly disappearing and the detached lethargy seemed to have seeped away this morning when he woke. The down side being his leg ached. The rent in his calf throbbed mercilessly, however, the medical staff in all their marked intelligence refused to dole out anything more powerful than Tylenol.

Drug reactions and some such foolishness.

Biro had mumbled at one time, he deserved Baby Aspirin.

Voodoo.

McKay stared past Ronon, over to Beckett, who lay curled on his side sleeping, the heavy, deep sleep of the truly exhausted. _About time_.

McKay blamed Beckett and his staff for his own unrelenting fatigue. Mostly it was because Carson kept them all from getting a full night's sleep. Nightmares and delusions took a turn toward Hoff, Ellia, the Wraith, but especially Michael. Michael had been standing in dark corners, stalking the periphery of his bed, looming over Sheppard or one of the others ready to feed.

Colonel Caldwell, with his bruised cheek, had become the infirmary staff's Ace. Caldwell, in his no nonsense, confident, military manner, simply told Beckett nothing was there. His words and tone were clear, concise and assured. There was no room for doubt.

Carson saw Michael behind closed lids or towering over the Colonel ready to strike the Daedalus commander down in one fell swoop.

Stephen Caldwell dictated Michael would not get close to Beckett again as long as the Daedalus was in the area.

McKay found it all quite unsettling. He missed most of what transpired two beds down. He was battling his own fever and toxins and drifted in and out during the night. He pieced together enough to know that Sheppard felt the misdirected, sharp sting of responsibility for losing a team on an abandoned planet days from Atlantis. And the undeserved self induced guilt of not protecting someone as close as family.

Beckett blamed no one for his fall into Michael's hands and Sheppard bore the culpability, without sound reason.

The guilt was useless and unmerited but that didn't make it disappear. Responsibility could be argued, shouted and debated and in the end it wouldn't change how Sheppard felt no matter the rationalization. No matter which side of the debate one sat on, it didn't really change that Sheppard assumed blame for the events that occurred on that planet of converted not so converted Wraith.

McKay found people frustrating at a whole. Astrophysics was much easier to deal with in the grand scheme of things. _A bit neater more times that not._

After periodic bouts of wide eyed staring, feeble struggles and strangled gasps of fright from the bed a few yards down through out the night, Rodney decided then that medical doctors should never be allowed to be patients. They just didn't handle it well at all. It would be easier on everyone involved and even those not involved if the physicians just kept to the play book and treated the sick and injured and not become one of the sick or injured. It was all terribly inconvenient and loud. No one got any rest last night or early this morning.

"You don't know, McKay?" Ronon crossed his chest and bounced, sort of, on the toes of his good leg. His smile grew bigger and toothier. McKay stared at him, mentally shaking off the memories of the last 14 hours.

Ronon unnerved Rodney on many levels.

Carson struggled to open his eyes. His eyelids felt caked closed. With some effort, they peeled apart slowly, one lash at a time or so it felt like to him.

"They are a people," Ronon stated.

"Where? From some planet you're about to make up?" McKay huffed.

Beckett smiled to himself. Rodney certainly pulled no punches when he thought someone was trying to pull a fast one with facts.

"They are from Earth," Ronon returned with just a touch of aggressiveness for being questioned. "An ancient culture called Aztec. Dr. Jen Caine told me of them."

"He's got you there, McKay." Sheppard's amusement was clearly audible.

"Oh, shut up," McKay mumbled. "And Jen Caine is a basket case. She should be relegated to driving tippers or placed in a purple flowered room and fed with a straw. What she tinkers with is NOT science. It so far removed from Science that---well it makes Carson's little side show hobbies almost reputable. Should just call Caine's whole department NTS."

"NTS?" Teyla asked shaking her head.

"Not Science," McKay grumbled.

Carson would have chuckled, but it required more effort than he was willing to exert.

Instead, an itch at the tip of his nose made itself known.

With great effort, he moved an impossible heavy hand and swiped at his face. He missed his nose, hit his cheek and scraped something solid across the back of his eyes. _IV port and line. _He hoped it didn't leave a mark.

"Doctor Beckett?" The proximity of Teyla's voice startled him. The concern was both touching and slightly unnerving.

He opened his eyes to a blurry world.

"Dr. Beckett?"

"Hey, the doc finally deciding to wake up?" Sheppard asked.

"He still calling you mum?" That unnerved Rodney as much as it amused him. Ronon being mistaken for his Auntie Beatrice was priceless. _It had to be the hair…or Auntie Beatrice was beastly. _That part of the evening would be sure to resurface over dinner conversations and during other public venues.

"Dr. Beckett? Carson, you are alright." Teyla pulled her chair a little closer to his bed and watched him battle the roll of his eyes. "You are in the infirmary on Atlantis." She watched somewhat disheartened when he focused on the edge of the mattress. His breathing became slightly rushed. "Michael is not here," she assured.

She glanced quickly over her shoulder to Sheppard. The colonel merely clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes in frustrated anger. Even with one foot and opposite leg wrapped and confined in snug bandages, Sheppard appeared willing to take on a Wraith fleet. His eyes still held the slightly dilated look associated with the creatures' bite.

McKay picked at his blanket, diverting his too dark eyes to his slightly elevated leg.

Ronon pushed himself from his bed, favoring his back and leg. Carrying Doctor McKay while only partially avoiding the creatures had damaged his back. The MPTs had laid his outer thigh open and punctured his calf but, that discomfort seemed to pale to the ache that gnarled his lumbar spine. Dex's eyes did not hold the same dilated pupils as the others. It intrigued Biro and the others but not enough for them to approach for more blood samples.

Teyla turned her attention back to Beckett.

The others watched in their on version of quiet---which would have had them tossed from Libraries across assorted countries.

A deep groan rolled forth from Carson's chest and the articulation of Teyla's name was mangled and lost.

He didn't see her smile. He could hear Rodney in the background calling for one of Carson's peers. Igor he suspected was Biro. Joe Early eluded him.

He could make out the fuzzy outlines of someone in a billowing white coat approach down the center aisle passed Rodney and Sheppard. The figure stopped at his bedside. Fuzzy white and tans were all he could truly discern.

He was tired.

Soon hands were touching him. A stethoscope was slid under his gown and placed against his chest in various locations. It left for a few seconds and then cupped to his back. The stethoscope was cold, as chilled as the finger tips that held it to his skin. He was asked to take deep breaths, hold his breath and let it out. He did his best to follow directions, but gave up after the second attempted breath. It was easier to just breathe unencumbered by thinking.

The someone checked assorted lymph nodes. Some ached more than others and, had he not been so exhausted, he might not have been terribly tolerant of the inguinal node palpation. There were certain places cold hands just didn't belong.

The hands moved down his leg. The leg was sore. Reflexes were tested. He tried brushing the investigating hands away with his other leg. It was a lose-lose proposition all around. The grip on his sore leg tightened, his good leg was constantly deflected and he was growing more fatigued.

He decided to focus on other things. The sharp silver of the horizontal bed rails, the white blankets of the infirmary, the back of his curled hand and IV but, more importantly, Teyla squatting down and smiling at him through the rails of his bed.

He kicked at the hands manipulating his sore foot, just for grins. It earned him an impatient sigh and a sharply deflected foot.

Carson did his best to ignore the yellow bed sheets and watched Teyla. The image of Michael flashed to the forefront of his mind…._Okay, now,_ _let's begin..._.

His pulse picked up. Teyla reached through the bars and clasped his chilled hand. It was grounding. He stared at the Athosian.

He had come to loathe that color bedding. However, he had no cause to request a change in color and feared if he did he would gain the further attention of Dr. Heightmeyer.

She was nice, intelligent but he was tired of having his mind manipulated.

Beckett could still hear Rodney and the Colonel speaking in the background.

"Malicious Peccary Tintinabulator." was met with an indignant, "Oh, please."

Carson was impressed with Sheppard's word.

Someone tapped his foot, trying to get his attention. He swiped at the annoying 'tapper' with his good foot. It earned him an annoyed, "Dr. Beckett."

Carson rolled his head, and realized that he lay on his side. _Morrison._ His surgeon was tapping the side of Beckett's bandaged foot. Betadine stained toes peaked back at him. His toenails were bruised. Though unsightly, they didn't appear near as swollen as they suddenly felt. He wished he had a sock to cover them.

Morrison was asking him to do something. _Ohh--- demanding._ Beckett decided he should really keep Dr. Charles Morrison away from conscious patients.

His toes were cold, so Carson simply dragged his leg slightly toward his center hiding them under the folded back blanket. _Maybe Dr. Morrison would leave his toes alone if he couldn't see them. _

Beckett turned his attention away from the surgeon and back to Teyla. She was smiling again, amused about something.

Someone tapped his foot again and called his name, with a little more bite than usual.

Beckett watched as Ronon slowly pushed himself to his feet. The runner moved awkwardly as if his back hurt. It confused Carson for a bit. _When did Ronon hurt his back? _

Someone jostled Carson's foot again. Cold air brushed against his re-exposed toes. He curled his leg up closer to his torso out of the cold air of the infirmary.

"Carson, just wiggle your toes and Morrison will leave you alone," Sheppard ordered.

"Tic-Tac," Carson whispered staring at Teyla.

The Athosian tilted her head to the side for a bit before understanding dawned. "Dr. Beckett offers, Malicious Peccary Tic-Tac."

"Bet he needs one or a dozen," Rodney muttered to Sheppard.

"Tic-Tac is a good choice." Ronon gently limped closer to the foot of Beckett's bed. Carson noted Dr. Morrison moving to the right side of the bed. It was a strange dance indeed.

"Wiggle your toes, Doc, so Morrison here can get back to his other duties," Sheppard suggested with neutral understanding for both parties.

Dex glowered at the foot of the bed. His mannerisms reminded Beckett of a feral dog he had seen on occasion in the city. Even injured and half starved, the mongrel defended its little territory near a dumpster with a ferocious demeanor. It worked, more times than not. No one was seemingly willing to test if its bark was worse than its bite. Carson occasionally tossed it parts of his lunch or dinner on his way home or off to his work. It only earned him bared teeth and pitched snarls as the mongrel stood stiff legged over the scraps, guarding them from its beneficiary. It wouldn't bite the hand that fed it. Carson always figured the dog would have devoured it.

Something pinched his big toe, pulling him back into the infirmary and reminding him he still had a request to fill. He moved his toes. They felt as if they should have creaked and squeaked like frozen hinges. It hurt, in a dull warning sort of way. Morrison asked him a question, something about pain in his knee. Carson gave an equivocal grunt. Something ached when he moved his toes, he just wasn't too sure where the discomfort localized to and he was unwilling to try and find out. That was the surgeon's job today.

"Malicious Peccary Toothbrush," Sheppard offered. Beckett watched Teyla chuckle at the suggestion. He smiled too. It was good to see and hear people laugh.

Carson suspected the Colonel spoke just to annoy Rodney. Sheppard excelled at such feats and with unparalleled skill.

"Oh…Pllllease," McKay admonished with frustration. "We can expect such drivel from Carson, he practically melted his lonely brain cell in that soup bowl skull of his. But you, you have no excuse."

_Soup bowl?_

Carson focused his attention back on Teyla.

She understood his un-vocalized question.

"Your fever has been quite high." She smiled reassuringly and brushed at his forehead and temple with feather-light fingertips. He was dramatically cooler than he had been just a few hours ago.

"It broke early this morning. The doctors say you will be fine." She lifted her rich brown eyes to someone who must have stood behind him and then returned her beguiling gaze back to him and smiled once more. Her thumb delicately rubbed small circles at his temple. He relaxed into the bedding allowing his eyes to droop. "You will keep your leg. The infection is clearing and the wounds are beginning to heal."

_Keep his leg? He hadn't truly planned on losing it. _

Morrison's voice grumbled in the background. He spoke to someone Beckett couldn't see, giving them orders and making adjustments in medications. He really wanted to follow the conversation, realizing it probably pertained to his immediate situation, but something kept him from truly putting much effort into it.

He stared accusingly at the IV line that snaked its way to the back of his hand.

From behind, a heavy hand awkwardly patted his shoulder in a gruff manner. A voice assured him he would be fine, and to get some sleep.

_Morrison._

Dr. Morrison really wasn't a bad guy. He was quite funny actually, a terribly dry sense of humor that kept the staff on their toes and in stitches. He just had the bedside manner of a pit bull or a, "Malicious Peccary Tadpole."

Teyla chuckled and repeated the suggestion.

"Oh, Carson, that's beyond sad, just, just go back to sleep and quit bothering us above average intelligent people." There was a pause, "Well, I'm above average. Way, way, way above average…my extensive intelligence is quite remarkable really."

"You don't say?" Sheppard muttered from his bed.

"Quite often," Teyla opinioned with amused tiredness.

"Malicious Peccary Troposphere," Ronon tossed out.

Teyla laughed as she continued to squat next to the bed rail. Her fingers had stilled as her attention was directed toward the others.

Beckett tilted his head slightly, nudging her hand. Teyla smiled understanding the hint and continued gently carding her fingers through his sweat dried hair.

"Malicious Peccary Teetotaler," Sheppard offered.

Teyla turned her eyes to Sheppard and then Ronon and finally McKay. No matter how tough or independent or intelligent they perceived themselves to be they needed a bit of gentle coddling every now and then.

She gazed back to Beckett and found him struggling to keep his eyes open.

Somewhere from the foot of his bed, Carson heard Ronon rattle off, "Malicious Peccary Tartare". There was a hint of craving in his voice. A good sign. Dex without an appetite was a very sick or injured individual. If he was thinking of food then his stiffened gait was not as serious as the CMO feared.

Carson wasn't very hungry, himself, but it made him think of Timmy. "Malicious Peccary Timothy." Except Timothy was a lamb not a vicious alien monstrosity. Timmy was tender, soft and exquisite tasting on bread fresh from his mum's oven.

He heard Teyla repeat his suggestion with a hint of confusion.

"Oh great, probably another fattened and dined upon farm animal from the Beckett household." Rodney's disgust was quite lovely. Uncle William was a crotchety old salty dog, but he knew how to raise lambs.

Carson smiled and drifted off to sleep with the delicate touch of fingers at his temple.

It reminded him of his mum.

He missed Colonel Caldwell's walk through visit and inquiries about the team and Beckett's health.

Carson also missed the Colonel's suggestion of, "Malicious Peccary Tocodynamometer."

Caldwell chuckled himself right out of the infirmary, pleased with himself. He ignored the sounds of Rodney's dismissive posturing at his heels.


	10. Chapter 10

**Part 10 (epilogue)**

Sheppard and Rodney hobbled through the sliding door and into the partially darkened Rec Room. The flickering glow of a plasma screen and transient light of the corridor offered the only illumination. The door slid closed behind them.

The plasma screen offered just enough light to outline various silhouettes around the room. A battered Foos ball machine was pushed off to the side creating more room for an assorted collection of hastily gathered desk chairs, commissary chairs, which were not allowed to leave the commissary, and lab stools.

Bodies occupied every free space of floor, reclining, sitting up, leaning, stretched out or scrunched. All eyes remained riveted on the screen.

The novelty of the plasma screen had not quite worn off yet. DVDs were practically as prized as various snack foods.

The voices on screen sounded with digital clarity. The room brightened slightly with a sudden scene involving a snow field.

The smell of real buttered popcorn hit Sheppard and McKay like a wall.

McKay shambled past the colonel, manipulating his cane with more grace and agility than he had shown all day or the day before. Sheppard watched Rodney for just a moment, making sure he didn't smack anyone with his cane or tumble off to the side with the loss of his equilibrium.

Apparently, the dizziness Biro was worried about concerning the head wound dissipated with the smell of buttered popcorn.

The colonel watched the individual holding the bowl, hoping it wasn't one of the newbies from the Daedalus. Some of the new recruits were slow to recognize the blind fervor in which scientists attacked free food.

Corporal Herring smirked and held the bowl steady as McKay took a handful.

There was something about scientists and free food that the military contingent couldn't quite understand. You put free spinach on a plate and leave it unattended and a blue shirt would be sure to scarf it down. Put cooked spinach on their plates in the commissary and it would end up in the recycling bin.

It was joked, quietly, that if free ice-cream was draped around a Wraith neck the poor drone wouldn't stand a chance against the scientists, especially the oceanography department. They were animals.

The blue shirts were like piranha when it came to unexpected snacks.

The movie played. An internationally mixed crowd of scientists and marines lounged around the screen enjoying….

Sheppard did a double take. "Death Hunt's on DVD?"

"Apparently," McKay mumbled around a mouth full of buttered popped kernels. "Filmed in Canada, you know. Not terribly accurate, though."

"I love this movie," Sheppard stated and slid his injured leg onto the overstuffed arm of the Pegasus Galaxy's version of a leather couch. "We should tell Ronon."

"He's seen it," Major Lorne quietly whispered from a recliner someone had dragged into the room. The major sat with his ankles crossed resting against the opposite arm of the couch. The leg extensions had broken a week ago when an impromptu game of football broke out on a rainy afternoon. The touchdown counted. Sheppard's team won, naturally.

"Colonel?"

"Shh." John waved away the annoyed voice as he watched Lee Marvin chase Charles Bronson across snow capped mountains.

"Colonel, he shouldn't be here. This is a public room." There was a pause. "Colonel!"

"Dr. Kavanaugh, who shouldn't be here?" Sheppard asked slightly annoyed. The Daedalus was still in orbit around Atlantis. They left in the morning. The Daedalus crew was normally fun to have around, a bit more serious than the Atlantis group, but a sea of temporary fresh faces was nice. Some not so fresh faces were not as pleasant.

"Dr. Beckett," Kavanaugh stated again with a hint of a whine, "He has no right to be sleeping on the couch in here."

"What?" Sheppard shook his head as he pulled his attention away from the giant plasma screen General O'Neill so graciously sent them.

"This is a Rec. room…meaning Recreation Room," Kavanaugh continued. "Meaning a public room."

"Will you shut up?" The German accented voice sounded like it belonged to Burns from the Zoology department. Burns was a no non-sense kind of guy. The few times Sheppard had inadvertently run into him during the daylight hours, Dr. Burns had the look of someone who ate tacks for breakfast.

"There a point to this, Kavanaugh?" McKay asked, begrudgingly handing the giant popcorn bowl over to Zelenka.

"He should either be in his quarters sleeping or in the infirmary. I would prefer the infirmary as he is still under the influence of alien toxins and could prove to be dangerous---as in violent."

It was discovered that the flies carried a toxin that acted synergistically with the toxin from the bite wounds of the MPTs, but in combination they delayed their clearance. Biro and her group had an explanation for it all. Sheppard honestly didn't care. Carson would be fine in a few days, until then he was just a little more off than usual and required a bit of a shadow. It wasn't difficult to farm out the duty. It consisted of simply redirecting him from his lab, the infirmary and the piers. The pier quirk was proving to be a bit challenging. He slept a lot, ate a little and generally made little sense when he opened his mouth. Between the thickened accent and the random stream of conscious dialogue, most people just kind of nodded and moved along.

"Carson?" Sheppard asked slightly perplexed. He peered at the couch. Beckett slept stretched out, facing the back, arms curled in front under his chin and his injured leg cushioned by a couple of donated pillows. The sock on his good foot hung like an ill used slinky from his toes. A blanket was bunched at his shoulders. It wasn't doing much, but it wasn't terribly chilly either. Someone probably draped it over him as a gesture of good will.

Blankets just made sleeping more comfortable.

"He's not looking terribly threatening." Sure Carson had the brains to be dangerous, and sometimes his good intentions lead to not so great results, but on the whole he wasn't an inherently dangerous or violent individual. Well unless, you got between him and the last cup of tea on a morning that started earlier than he deemed necessary. He could potentially bow his back a bit.

Then there was the whole drug reaction late yesterday when they wanted to nip a secondary infection in the bud. The combination of different alien salivas and Earth drugs mixed poorly; just as Biro and Morrison had feared. Carson had become bit anxious and a little more hyper, but again not threatening. He could talk as fast as he moved. _Kind of like Rodney, but not as bad, or so Biro and Morrison had agreed._ They simply let him walk it off. The infirmary certainly got quieter. Morrison had been displeased, but the leg wasn't broken, the wounds were protected under thick bandages, that didn't thump nearly as loudly as the bandage in the tree. The wounds apparently didn't pain him any. With Ronon shadowing, Beckett, had wandered down corridors, up stairwells and into and out of various towers until whatever electrified his system sparked out. It only took and hour or more before Ronon hauled him back to the infirmary and dropped him onto a bed. Biro had marked Beckett's record. They would be certain not to use that chemical again.

"He's not in his right mind." Kavanaugh persisted.

"Oh, well there's a news flash," McKay dismissed. Rodney settled awkwardly on the floor next to Zelenka, elbowing the Czech out of his way. Radek dutifully slid to the right using the front of the couch as a back rest. He created a wave like effect, forcing Simpson to nudge Haynes who bumped Williams from the opposite end. Private Williams simply leaned against Dr. Claudia who gladly accommodated the closeness.

"He shouldn't be sleeping in a rec. room. This is not the place for it."

Sheppard shrugged. That was true. Though, the couch was sinfully comfortable. He really out did himself when scrounging for furniture. He had even crashed and burned on that couch a few times himself. _Yeah, he was pretty much an amazing guy all around._

"He bothering anyone in here?"

Various 'No's' rebounded around the room. Someone in the deep shadows off to the right injected, "Billy's feet stink, that's been bothering me. And you guys not shutting-up…Sir" A few deep 'Yeah's' circled the room.

"He is under the influence of an unknown drug," Kavanaugh continued, ignoring the DVD and groans from the audience. "That is not conducive to a safe environment."

Kavanaugh had a valid point.

"Has he done anything that would be construed as dangerous?" Sheppard opened the question to the darkened room. He peered down at Beckett who slept with his face mashed into the corner of the couch. John hoped Carson wasn't drooling. Leather just wasn't all that absorbent.

"Well, he did say something about Thrombin causing endothelial cells to produce something…" Zelenka struggled with the memory.

"T.P.A. or some such thing," Galley finished from somewhere to the left.

"Sounds very----dangerous." Sheppard nodded. "Potential forced production of maurading….."

"tPA," McKay filled in, raising his eyebrows and shrugging his shoulders.

"Oh and he said something about Morgan Le Fey being eaten by a chicken hawk that escaped from the aviary over the loch." Peterson from supplies added.

"Probably a red tailed hawk," Fortuna corrected.

"Morgan Le Fey?"

"Character in a book, Colonel. A big important book, in some circles," McKay informed with a disappointed sigh. _Mensa indeed. _

"Banty hen, apparently a good layer," Callahan injected. "Sounded like it was a sad day when ole Morgan got snatched up in the barnyard buffet of life."

"You're real sympathetic, Brian," Simpson taunted and tossed a piece of popcorn at the botanist.

"Any of you mind if we leave Dr. Beckett, here sleeping?"

"No's" echoed around the room.

An annoyed voice finally uttered, "Stop talking, please." It sounded suspiciously like Hermiod.

"Sorry, Dr. Kavanaugh. He stays," Sheppard settled on the arm of the couch, stretching a lazy arm across its back pillows. His injured leg stretched out, partially supported by the arm rest. He silently hoped the little nude alien had some pants on especially if he was sitting on a chair.

Over the next forty-five minutes, the room remained captivated by the snow bound chase between two accomplished trackers.

During that time Sheppard occasionally nudged Beckett's shoulder to squelch any building snores, and to rouse him from the occasional building nightmare.

Death Hunt ended to a small applause, gleeful sighs and then muffled groans as people began moving about and filtering from the room. Most headed for their quarters, while a skeleton crew meandered to their stations.

After just a few minutes all that remained were Major Lorne, Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay.

"Who's got duty, now?" Sheppard asked Lorne as the door slid shut behind the last of the group. Beckett still slept wedged close to the back of the couch.

"I do," Lorne answered, settling back into his chair. He picked up the remote and flipped to the menu looking for another movie selection.

"He having any more nightmares about…"

"No," the Major answered before Sheppard finished. "He's been pretty relaxed. Gets a bit confused, was disoriented last time he woke up. Biro and Morrison weren't concerned." Lorne shrugged. "Oh and he made a phospholipid membrane out of green beans, peas and rice tonight at dinner, added some sort of spaghetti receptor to it." Lorne shrugged. He wouldn't be looking at his vegetables the same way again in a long time. "Did you know that you can't use ALT to assess woodchuck hepatocyte damage?"

Sheppard merely shrugged and shook his head. He never gave much thought to woodchucks or their hepatocytes.

"Me neither. He knows some pretty bizarre facts," Lorne added staring at Beckett unsure if he should be frightened or intrigued with what bizarre facts the doctor had stored away.

"Don't we all," McKay muttered. The astrophysicist limped toward the door, leaning heavily on his cane. He exited the rec. room, turned to the right, disappearing down the hall with a clump and a slide. The labs seemed much further away with a cane and a bum leg.

Sheppard watched him go and then shook his head despondently and called out. "McKay, what are you doing?"

"Work, Colonel, you should try it once in awhile." The disembodied voice floated into the room.

Major Lorne laughed at Sheppard, who cursed McKay.

John ground his teeth, silently berating scientists and their ilk, and headed down the hall after Rodney.

Lorne smiled like a fat cat in the sun. Beckett slept oblivious to the world around him. It was about time. The last few days since returning from the Planet of the Pigs, as it was called amongst the general public, the doc hadn't had a restful night.

Maybe tonight.

SGA-1 was on light duty for the next few days. Last Lorne saw Ronon he was sparring with Fitzgerald from Special Forces. Teyla was still instructing stick fighting. Albeit, light contact.

As typical with SGA-1, light duty was a concept they just did not understand. It usually drove Beckett to distraction. This time it was Biro and Morrison. Morrison was going to blow a gasket soon. Biro gave the appearance of not caring.

Lorne pushed his chair back, forcing it to recline even further. He cast a glance toward the sleeping CMO. "Doc, you find yourself some seriously bizarre trouble. It's a damn good thing you got Sheppard and his team looking out for you." Though, SGA-1 often times was the common denominator in the scrapes that embroiled Beckett. The Major amended his statement. "You're lucky you've got us, Doc."

Lorne picked his next video selection and settled back into his chair. He caught sight of a scar on the back of his arm. It had been deep, ran longitudinal and he had been afraid that he would have lost the use of his arm and be sent back to Earth as damaged goods, useful to no one. Beckett had fixed it without a hitch.

Lorne settled back in his chair, draping his arms up over his head and the back of the recliner and settled in to watch Jeremiah Johnson.

"Guess we're pretty fortunate we got you here, too."

The end.


End file.
